Thedas for Dummies
by Hyliian
Summary: The obligitory "modern girl winds up in Thedas" AU, told in first-person snippets from Liz's journal. Anders x OC. Humor/Drama/Adventure/Romance and such.
1. Ch 1: Life is Not a Video Game

**Lesson Number One:**

**_Life is Not a Video Game_**

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><p>I suppose you're all wondering why I've gathered you here today…<p>

All right, not really, but I've always wanted to say that. If there's one thing I've learned through this… _experience_, it's that you can't afford to take anything for granted. That's why I'm writing this. Well, that and because it's becoming harder to remember anything before any of this shit started, so I figured I'd better get it down on paper before it's lost completely.

I'll start off by saying that I'm still not entirely certain I'm not just dreaming this whole thing. For all I know, I could be drugged out of my mind, drooling into a pillow in some sanitarium reserved for those unique people with "special needs," wrapped nice and snug in a custom-fit straightjacket while doctors tap pens to their lips and say _Hmm, interesting…_

I really hate that phrase.

_Hmm, interesting…_

I've heard it a lot over the past few years, and I can't say I'm a big fan of whoever coined it. It's never said like they mean it. It's always in this "Oh, of course, just smile and nod at the crazy person before they come any closer" voice.

I don't appreciate it. At _all_.

Right. I should probably stop rambling if I intend to get anything useful accomplished, and Varric will steal my journal and read it when I'm not paying attention if I'm not careful. He might even rewrite it for me, and make it sound more like an adventure and less like the ravings of a lunatic.

Right. Starting now.

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><p><strong>AN:**_ I'll try not to have author's notes at the end of the chapters, but I wanted to go ahead and get the usual "Bioware owns everything except my soul" out of the way. So._

_Bioware owns everything except my soul, and Liz since Liz is me. _

_If the OC sounds snarky, it's because she is. ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

**January, 2012**

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><p>I can say with total honesty that my life is about as ordinary as humanly possible. I have a family: mom, aunts, uncles, cousins, step-fathers, step-mothers… all that. I even have cats. Two of them. Along with the occasional cricket—I hate insects and wish they would all just die and leave me in peace—or Grass Spider from Hell. If my life was a <em>Fable<em> game, I'd ask the Seer to make my wish "Eradicate all insects not essential to the continuation of human life on Earth."

I spend my time drawing or writing or killing brain-cells playing video games on the 360. Normal teenage things, you know. I don't hang out with friends, I don't go to the mall and hang around creepily while watching people walk by, I don't _drive_…

No, I _don't_ drive. Why does that even matter to you? Stop bugging me about it. It's not that high on my priority list, all right? I'd rather make rent than learn how to peddle around in a huge metal box.

I'm a shameless fangirl when it comes to RPGs. I read the fics, I follow the comics, I play the games… I'm a nerd, plain and simple.

And, in case you weren't aware, being a nerd is not exactly conducive to modern teenage life. I never got into the whole 'paint your face' thing. Makeup. It's just colored dust; what's the point of putting it on your face? You'd have to tie me down before I voluntarily wore a dress or heels, and I'd probably be screaming bloody murder the whole time. I'm more interested learning how to keep my laptop working despite the missing Backspace button than keeping up with what celebrity is dating who and whose cellulite is more noticeable than everyone else's. I mean _really_, America, why is that so important? Leave the damn celebrities alone and let them live their lives like normal, silicone-enhanced human beings, all right?

I don't take stock in the whole "End of the World in 2012" nonsense. Although, looking back, maybe I should have.

Anyway, my life isn't anything special. I'm just a girl trying to make it through life one clumsy step at a time, and having a grand ol' time doing it. All I want is the freedom to _live my life_ without a backseat driver trying to grab hold of wheel and steer for me.

Did you like my car metaphor? Since I don't drive? I liked it.

Anyway.

I can't pinpoint exactly the moment when my life started going downhill, but I'm relatively certain it was around the same time that ridiculous _My Little Pony_ craze was going around. What _is_ the deal with that show, anyway? Why'd it suddenly become so damn popular? Oh well, that's not the point.

I think it was something mundane that got me screwed. Going out for groceries, maybe. Or perhaps I was visiting my aunt. Or maybe even just me being a hormonal wreck and having one of my famous panic attacks—I've been off medicine since graduation, thank you very much.

But whatever the reason, it suddenly seemed like a great idea to go for a nice drive.

You _do_ recall me mentioning how I don't drive, yes?

I _can_ drive, I just can't drive _well_. It's important that you know this, so you're aware that what happened wasn't my fault. Even _I_ know better than to drive without your lights on. A _chimpanzee_ knows better than to drive without your lights on. At night.

But the wonderful person who introduced the front of their car to mine apparently did not possess the intelligence of a chimpanzee, and so our cars became great friends going about seventy on those unlit back roads where the state's too cheap to pay for streetlights.

To be fair, I _was_ speeding. But it was practically _midnight_ and honestly, who drives without their lights on that late at night? Idiots, of course.

I remember… the scream of metal. The sudden sight of a sedan taking up the entirety of my windshield as my lights—which were _on_—decided to show me the idiot about to meld his car with mine.

I can remember every detail about the other driver from that one split instant that he was in my headlights. He was a kid, like me, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He had this weird hair, like it was shaggy but in an on-purpose way, and it was black. Like, dyed black. No one's hair is that naturally black. He was on his cellphone. Texting or talking, I have no idea. All I saw was a phone. An iPhone, to be exact. Like mine, only he was _talking_ on it. _Without his lights on_. Like an _idiot_.

Did I mention how he was an idiot?

Oh, and he had on a green jacket. He should have been wearing blue; green was _not_ his color. But what do I know? I'm not a fashion Nazi, after all. I don't even think he really knew what was happening until he hit me. I remember he looked… calm. Carefree. Not at all the face of a kid about to plow headfirst into an automobile accident.

You know how people say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die? I didn't see anything like that. I remember thinking _oh God_ and then… nothing. Not even a climactic crash of vehicles, or a spinoff into a tree, or even a horrible sound of connecting with the windshield.

Just… black. The absence of color and light.

And the next thing you know, I'm on a battlefield strewn with corpses and I am _screwed_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wintermarch, 9:30 Dragon **

**Ostagar**

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><p>The first thing I remember noticing was the smell. Now, I'm not sure if you've ever smelled a dead, rotting corpse before, so let me go ahead and let you know what that's like.<p>

It's not fun. I'd smelled formaldehyde before, and it alone was enough to make me clap a hand over my mouth and bolt from the Biology room before I hurled. My jacket smelled like fetal pig for _weeks_ after that.

The smell of a thousand decaying bodies made formaldehyde smell like fresh cut roses.

Suffice it to say… I gagged. And then threw up. You probably didn't need to know that, but it felt important that I let you know I'm a normal human being with a normal reaction to such a thing.

Oh, and after that was over, I took a closer look at the bodies because I'm a sucker for punishment, and heaved again. I'd… never seen a dead person. A _real_ dead person. It was… horrible doesn't even begin to describe it. If I'd needed a reminder of my own mortality, this was it.

But that's just the thing, isn't it? I'd already had one of those. The car accident. Which brings me to the sudden vertigo that followed my discovery.

_Where in the hell am I?_

I remembered the accident. I knew there was no possible way I'd survived that head-on collision.

If this battlefield was my afterlife, I was seriously disappointed.

But… not all the bodies were human. I knew enough about the human anatomy to know that dark, twisted looking thing was _not_ human, even bloodied and flayed as it was. And, if this is even possible, it smelled _worse_. How I could smell that one weird, ugly, horrifying little creature above the rest of the field I'll never know. But I could. And it was awful. I cannot even put to words how awful it was, so I won't even try.

I'm not ashamed to admit I was more than a little freaked out, and I'm also not ashamed to admit that I screamed. Loudly. And then I ran, because I had nothing else to do and running seemed like a logical next step to waking up in a killing field.

But… running was hard. I am a normal, mentally sane young lady, so naturally I did not want to step on any corpses. That just seemed… wrong. On so many levels. This hindered my flight speed, and pretty soon the crying overrode any attempts of mine to honor the dead and I just got the hell out of Dodge. I was also wearing a dress.

I'd like to bring your attention to the previous entry where I mentioned how I would never voluntarily put on a dress. You remember that? Good. I wouldn't wear a dress on the best of days, and I sure as _hell_ wouldn't wear one to a _battlefield. _

I remember looking down at the dress and despairing that I'd gotten blood on it. And then I remembered that I didn't have time to worry about that shit and I promptly stopped caring. It's odd the things your mind decides to focus on when you're gripped in total, brain-melting terror.

Like the soft, weird slipper things I was wearing that didn't seem entirely practical for running full-out like this. I remember contemplating kicking them off so I didn't ruin them, and then I remembered I was running on a _field_ strewn with _human carnage_ and kept them on. Sometimes I question my own sanity.

It took an eternity to reach the woods. Why I headed for the woods, I have no idea. I guess it seemed like the safest place. The fact that it was the first place I saw had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

I am not an outdoorsy person. In fact, I actually despise being outside. Too many insects and not enough creature-comforts like electricity. And heat.

By all that is holy it was _freezing_ out there. My dress was not exactly insulating, and if I didn't die of sheer panic, frostbite would do me in quite nicely. I'm not exactly sure how long I ran, or how far, because I got lost almost immediately and couldn't even _see_ the sky anymore. Eventually I tripped over a tree root or something else equally inglorious, and face planted into the wet, mossy, swampy ground.

I was not a happy camper.

I think I just laid there for a while and had a nice therapeutic cry that really didn't do much to resolve the situation, before common sense dictated that I should probably get my face out of the mud and figure out _what the hell was going on_ before I completely lost it.

I got up, swatted at the leaves and gore clinging to my dress before I thought about it too hard, realized what I was doing, shrieked and jerked my hand away, cried some more, and then started walking.

In retrospect, I was really not handling this very well. But it's not as if there's a class you can opt in at school that teaches you how to deal with this kind of thing. Everything I knew or learned about how to survive in this kind of situation I learned from video games, where the character generally knew what the hell she was doing and could keep her own damn sanity in check while doing it.

All I knew was that I had to keep moving. _Eventually_ the forest had to end, right? So if I went in a straight line I would eventually get out. This was nice and logical to my panicked brain, so I rolled with it because I was sure as hell not going back to that battlefield. There might be… _things_ there! Like that creepy black thing I'd seen.

Whether it was my own good luck or some joke orchestrated by a higher power, I stumbled on a hut. Literally stumbled on it. I even tripped over a chair and slammed my head into the wall. The very image of grace.

Desperate for human contact that didn't involve corpses, I knocked on the door.

Figures that no one would be home. I didn't want to just walk in. I still had some dignity left, and I was _not_ going to break into this person's house like a vandal. So I sat in the chair I'd tripped over and decided to rest a while. If no one showed up in an hour or so, I'd follow that game-trail I could spot off to the left and pray it led to a road or something.

A long time—or maybe a few minutes—passed and I couldn't just sit there. I had too much energy, too much time to think. I started walking. Every noise was a monster in the bushes; every shadow was a wolf or a bear. I think I went a little insane just by walking through the forest.

I didn't even register when the trees thinned out and I was walking on grass again, until my slippered feet struck a road and I collapsed. I had never been so happy to see a road in my entire life.

But… it wasn't asphalt. Or concrete. It was… stones. Like cobblestone and rock. There was an overturned wagon nearby with a dead ox at the yoke, and I couldn't even muster the energy to be disgusted by the dead animal. I was too busy concentrating on that wagon.

It was old fashioned, nothing like a person would actually drive in America. And an _ox_? Really?

Ox. That's a funny word. Just two letters. And it has an _x_ in it. Not many words you use have _x_ in it anymore. Oh. I'm rambling.

Sorry.

I think by that point I was still under the impression I was in America. I hadn't had much time to think between the car accident and the warzone and the woods, but now I was really considering it. The bodies had been wearing armor. Lot of good it did them in the end, but still. Armor. Like… metal armor from medieval times.

I remember following that road for what seemed like _days_, but considering the sun hadn't risen yet it could only have been a few hours at most. Logic was not my best friend at the time.

You cannot even imagine how happy I was to see that little town in the distance. I have never been happier about anything in my entire life. Civilization! People! Sanity!

As it turns out there was an abundance of the first two, not so much of the third. Which was a pity, because out of all three of those I really needed some sanity most of all.

It was like walking into Grand Central Station and everyone wants to be on the exact same train leaving at the exact same time. It was that crowded. I wasn't the only one drenched from head to toe in blood and gore and swampy bits at least, but I'm pretty sure my shell-shocked expression was equal to some kind of military trauma because some men in silver armor took my arms and led me to through the gate and into the little town.

"There were bodies," I remember babbling to the armored man on my right, "everywhere. Blood and gore and dark, twisted creatures that weren't human and the _smell_ was worse than formaldehyde and I went into the forest and there was this hut…"

I'm not entirely sure what else I said because my brain was overloaded with sensations and warring desires to struggle for freedom and pass out completely. They set me down on this bench outside and handed me some bread and told me to relax, that it was over, that I wasn't at Ostagar anymore.

People say there's a defining moment in everyone's life where everything suddenly makes sense and the world starts turning again.

This was my defining moment.

As soon as the word _Ostagar_ left the man's mouth I knew exactly where I was. And it did absolutely nothing to make me relax. In fact, I think I may have started trembling with tears running down my face. I may have even whimpered.

Only one thought was running through my frantic mind on a loop.

_Run. Run fast and run hard because you CANNOT stay here._

So I got up and I started walking again. I really don't know where I was going. In fact I may have even been going back the way I came. I'm pretty sure I was, actually, but that was beyond the point.

The sun was rising when I saw him. Now, I've already mentioned how I am a sane, compassionate human being, so I shouldn't have to explain my sudden decision to break into a run and hurl myself at the man's side when he crumpled to the ground.

He was about as bloodied and battered as I was, and he'd obviously gone through the forest like I had. I remember thinking he was really cute underneath the carnage and the gore, and I remember giggling hysterically as I slung his arm around my shoulder and attempted to help him to his feet.

A man in armor is ridiculously heavy. Oh, and that sword at his back was taller than he was, so that probably had something to do with it. But adrenaline is a wonderful thing, and he wasn't completely unconscious, so I half-dragged him, half-walked him back towards the town that I had just fled from.

His steps started flagging when the town was still a distant dot on the horizon, and I knew I couldn't carry him there even on the best of days. I had to keep him conscious.

The only thing I knew how to do was talk. So I talked.

"My name is Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Liz. What's your name?" It is very difficult to form a coherent sentence when you're past exhausted and supporting a man twice your size. I may have sounded like a chain smoker, but I got the words through.

"Ca—Carver," he coughed. I stumbled, and it had nothing to do with exhaustion.

Keep talking. Just keep talking.

"It's nice to… meet you, Carver." I may have actually grunted. I will never live this down. "Stay with me Carver. We're almost there. See? That nice little village. Do you live there?"

Carver made a token effort to raise his head and blinked at the town growing steadily larger. He stood a little straighter and lessoned the amount of weight on my shoulders and I huffed a breath in gratitude. "Lothering," he coughed, "My… family lives there."

Well I knew that. It was scary how much I knew about that. Damn it, the Hawke I'm about to meet had better be a mage because if Carver dies fighting that ogre I am going to be supremely pissed.

No. No time to think about that. Keep him talking, keep him conscious.

"We'll make it, Carver. And we'll have a nice, hot dinner and a bath. Oh Lord a _bath_ and we can get this blood out of our hair and I can burn this damn dress and all the memories associated with it."

Carver chuckled weakly and stumbled, but I caught him and we kept moving.

I think I told Carver my entire life story on the walk back to Lothering, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't paying a whit of attention to me, which is just fine because I'd sound like a complete lunatic otherwise.

He led me to a farm on the outskirts and together we sagged against the door and one of us banged on it. I'm not sure who.

It opened and we both spilled inside, a pile of blood and limbs too tired to bother being embarrassed that I was sprawled over him and he was tangled up with me. I heard a shriek, someone calling for _Garrett _and _Bethany_ and I let my head fall to the floor beside Carver's.

And for the second time in as many days, the world went black.


	4. Ch 4: Don't Make Deals with Dragons

**Lesson Number Two:**

**_Don't Make Deals with Dragons_**

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><p>So that covers how I ended up in Thedas. And as little sense as anything made back then, I will always be grateful that I ran into Carver on that road. Without him and the Hawkes, I am one hundred percent certain that I would be dead.<p>

Again.

Best not to think about the particulars of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Wintermarch, 9:30 Dragon **

**Lothering**

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><p>The first thing I saw was a blue light, and I remember thinking <em>Is this heaven?<em>

If so, the angel hovering over me was pretty hot. I could live with this. Or… whatever.

Too bad I was suddenly in inexplicable agony and arched straight off the bed, screaming. The man's face creased in silent apology and the light faded along with the pain. I think I may have just lay there panting, eyes flicking wildly back and forth as panic set back in, and I had only one conscious thought break through the haze.

"C—Carver?" I wheezed. Yes, I wheezed it. Don't laugh at me.

The not-angel smiled and fingers pressed my wrist. Logic told me he was taking my pulse but I was a little beyond caring about logic at that point. "He'll be fine. You got him here just in time; he woke up just a few minutes ago."

Oh good. Carver was all right. _Now_ I can break down.

I burst into tears, wrapping my arms around myself and not even caring the dress was gone and I was lying there in my underwear. The first man to see me in my undies and I'm not even on Earth anymore. Figures. Someone had given me a bath—I remember praying it hadn't been my angel man or Carver.

My savior looked incredibly uncomfortable, and I heard him call out a desperate "Bethy!" in between my sobbing. I was never a delicate crier and it had never been more obvious than at this moment.

A young woman bustled in, all frantic hands and mothering tones, and I think I may have clung to her when she put an arm around me and I just cried into her shoulder.

"You can leave, Garrett," the woman said, a dismissal in her voice, and the man, _Garrett_, looked relieved and bolted from the room. "Shh… it's all right. You're safe now," she murmured as she rocked me.

"There was so much blood!" I cried out, "And everyone was _dead_ and I was lost and I just want to go home!"

"Shh…"

I have no idea how long she held me like that while I rode down the panic, but when I finally calmed down enough to remember that I have no idea who this lady is and I had just clung to her like a burr for an interminable amount of time, I let go and hugged myself instead.

I took a deep breath. In and out. Breathe. Nice and easy. This was not the time to have a panic attack. This is neither the time nor the place to lose it. Get it together.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, embarrassed.

The young lady smiled warmly, and to this day I have never seen a friendlier smile directed my way. "There's nothing to be sorry for. You got my brother home, and for that you have our thanks."

I looked down at my half-naked self. "Did you burn the dress?" I asked in a suspiciously hoarse voice. "I told Carver I'd burn the dress."

The lady laughed. "It had darkspawn blood on it, so yes. We burned it."

"Good," I nodded firmly. "I… don't have anything else to wear."

She pursed her lips and nodded once before hopping up to rummage through some drawers. She pulled out another dress—joy of joys—and shook out the wrinkles before holding it up in front of her. "We look about the same height. Let's see if this fits, shall we?"

Turns out it fit perfectly. It was… mildly disconcerting. I felt like a woman in this dress. It was a novel experience.

The woman, Bethany, led me out into a small living area where Garrett and Carver were sitting, the latter with a bandage around his head, and an older woman fretting over them both.

I stopped in my tracks. This was the Hawke family. The _Hawke_ family. In _front of me_. For real. My knees gave out and I clutched at the doorframe to keep from falling, blinking stupidly. I waved off Bethany's concern and followed her to the table.

Carver looked up and did a double-take, as if he couldn't have begun to imagine what I looked like beneath the blood and dirt that I'd been caked in when we first met. Or maybe it was the sight of me in his sister's dress. Who knows?

I remember fiddling with my brownish hair and wondering if I looked all right. Because _obviously_ being attractive is the most important thing I could be doing right now. Glad to see my priorities were nice and straight.

For the sake of vanity, I'll go ahead and admit that I'm not the most gorgeous person in the world. I'm not… _ugly_ or anything, but if you'll turn your attention to my first entries you'll recall that I don't put much stock in makeup and things like that. I honestly have no idea what color my eyes are. I'm serious. They change color like a chameleon! Sometimes they're blue, other times they're green… sometimes they're both. It's kind of neat in a weird, freaky way.

Anyway.

Garrett was watching me as if I might go berserk and attack them at any moment, which was strange, but Carver at least seemed happy to see me.

"You're awake!"

Thank you, Carver, for pointing out the obvious. Okay, that was mean, but I was a little out of sorts at the time.

"So are you," I replied intelligently. Really, our conversations put Shakespeare to shame.

Shakespeare. Did you know that my old English teacher would always spell his name wrong? She'd spell it _Shakespear_. It was hilarious. She was absolutely certain that she was spelling it right, and simply would not correct it. So I just added an _e_ after it on the chalkboard every time she wrote it and turned her back to me. The class thought it was great. She never did figure out why we kept snickering.

Oh. I started babbling again. This is not a good sign.

Carver and I immediately began convincing the nice Hawke family that it was prudent to get the hell out of Lothering because the darkspawn were coming. Together our argument carried unexpected weight, and the family jumped into gear immediately.

I felt utterly useless, and I said as much to Carver while we sat at the table, resting.

"How'd you survive at Ostagar, then?" he'd asked me.

"I don't remember." It was honest, and it was distressing.

We fled the town and found ourselves in the mountains, heading in the general direction of _away_. My mind wasn't… in peak condition, so I was actually startled when the darkspawn ambushed us. Looking back, it was totally predictable. But everything is predictable looking back, and I hardly had time to remember how the damn game played out while running for my life.

The darkspawn were even worse _alive_ than dead. The smell was the same, but I was pretty much used to it after my little adventure in the field. Lady Leandra and I huddled together, equally defenseless and useless against the darkspawn, while the three Hawke siblings handled the beasts.

At least until one broke through their line and rushed us.

I am not a noble soul. I am not prone to heroic tendencies. But _something_ made me step between Leandra and that darkspawn and to this day I still don't know what it was. Fear welled and it was like lightning in my veins, and then lightning in the air, and finally lightning at my fingertips. I remember shrieking and the lightning arced from my hands to the darkspawn and it jerked and shuddered, twitching and screaming like a dying animal.

It collapsed, still twitching, and Carver beheaded it his sword as I stared wild-eyed at its corpse.

I had just used magic.

_I_ had just used _magic_.

I was a mage.

"I'm a mage," I said dumbly, shaking. Leandra put her hands on my shoulders and tried to calm me down but I was beyond calm. I was _terrified_.

Bethany and Garrett both took me aside and calmed me down with assurances that they would help me through this, that I had done the right thing, that magic had just saved my life. That _I_ had just saved Leandra.

Garrett looked relieved.

Now that I look back and write this down, I realize Garrett had been afraid I would turn them in to the Templars. I had seen him casting magic, and he didn't know who I was. Now that I was a mage, I wouldn't turn them in.

I wouldn't have anyway, but that's beside the point.

The two talked me down off the ledge and we continued on. I felt marginally less useless now, but I had no idea how to use magic beyond the lightning I could call when I was in mortal peril, so I stuck with Leandra and we helped each other over the mountains.

We met up with Aveline and her husband, and that went about as expected.

It was when we first saw the ogre that my memory kick-started itself and I found myself running as fast as my feet could take me.

I think I shoulder-checked Bethany out of the way. It's funny looking back, that I had never played football in my life but managed an actual tackle in my time of need.

I felt the ogre grab _me_ instead, and after that… nothing.

I really had a tendency to black out back then, didn't I? I felt the magic in my blood. It was like pinpricks under the skin, weird but not unpleasant.

And then it just… exploded. Not literally, but from what Garrett and Bethany described to me later, it was like I'd just been possessed.

Apparently, I electrocuted the ogre while it was holding me and somehow this was enough to stop its heart. Anticlimactic, I know. It also dropped me and I hit my head, and blacked out.

Heh.

When I came to, everyone was huddled around me and both Garrett and Bethany were healing me. Healing magic is difficult to explain to someone who's never felt it before. It was like… warm water being poured over your skin.

Naturally, Bethany was teary-eyed and Leandra hugged me tightly and sobbed that I'd saved her baby girl and that she could never repay me for that.

I was getting into a habit of saving the Hawke children, it seemed.

The meeting with Flemeth went about as I'd expected it would, except for the part where she stared at me the entire time she spoke with this _knowing_ look in her eye that made me incredibly suspicious that she had something to do with me showing up here.

I wanted to grab her arm and shake her and demand to know what was going on, but I wasn't _suicidal_.

I knew we needed her help to escape the Blight. I knew Garrett would take her deal whether we wanted him to or not. I knew Ser Wesley would die of the Taint and Aveline would kill him. I knew Flemeth didn't enact some horrible payment on us for saving our worthless hides beyond the delivery of her amulet.

I knew all these things.

So why did it feel like making a deal with a demon?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_I know I said I wouldn't do the author's note things, but I made some changes to this chapter that bear noting. __ It was brought to my attention that I hadn't given any descriptions for Liz. So I put some here! Sorry about that; since Liz is _me_ and _I _know what I look like, it sort of slipped my mind to include any kind of description in the entries. My bad. _

_We now return you to your originally scheduled program._


	6. Chapter 6

**Guardian, 9:30 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>There are a lot of things that I can and cannot do, and some of them may surprise you.<p>

I can ride a horse bareback. I can sing reasonably well. I can read sheet music. I can write in calligraphy. I can even bake a cake and sew a little.

What I _cannot_ do is swim. I had never been on a ship before because of this very fact.

Well, there was that one time back in the fourth grade or so when I went to a lake house for a classmate's birthday. We rode in a speedboat, and I clung to the seat for dear life and cried the entire time.

So it's not a stretch of the imagination that the ship ride from Gwaren to Kirkwall was a living hell. I think I was seasick the entire ride, and it took several weeks to get there at all.

I had a lot of time to think in between bouts of nausea, and I tried to explain to Garrett what my situation was like. I think he thought I was a little crazy, until he took into account my complete and utter overreaction to every little thing that had happened. He'd been passing it off as shock prior to our discussion, but I think he started believing me after I recited some of the laws of physics that I remembered.

_Every body persists in its state of being at rest or of moving uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to change its state by force impressed. _

Or, in English:

An object that is at rest will stay at rest unless an unbalanced force acts upon it.

An object that is in motion will not change its velocity unless an unbalanced force acts upon it.

I may have broken his brain a little with that. I felt kind of bad, actually. Big words, and all that.

He tried to teach me how to control my magic, but there wasn't any room for privacy on the crowded, smelly, refugee ship so we had to settle for magic _theory_ rather than practical application. I was not pleased by this.

When we did reach Kirkwall, we got stonewalled by the Guard and the illustrious Gamlen Amell. Garrett and Carver decided to work with Meeran so Bethany wouldn't have to risk Templar scrutiny. I guess Garrett was better at hiding his magic. He _did_ carry daggers around, after all.

I… didn't want to intrude on their family space. I was a stranger that had just happened to be in the right place at the right time with outside knowledge that ended up saving the lives of the twins. Plus, I doubted Gamlen's hovel would have room for all five of us. Garrett helped me get a room at the Hanged Man, and said he'd pay for it until I could sustain the rent on my own.

I think I started crying as I hugged him. He patted my back awkwardly, but bore my emotional upheaval with typical male dignity. Meaning, he fled the instant I released him.

It smelled like ale and vomit in the Hanged Man. But that was honey and roses compared to Ostagar. I may have actually smiled.

Well, I smiled until a rat crawled out of my mattress. I shrieked like a little girl and hid on top of a chair until it ran out the door. I sat there until dawn broke. I only knew dawn had broken because patrons started filing out from downstairs and I made my way down and sat quietly at a table, twiddling my thumbs.

I had never actually twiddled my thumbs before. I'd always thought it was just a figure of speech, but it was actually rather entertaining. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic, sitting there twirling my thumbs around each other with this goofy smile on my face.

Now, I have never been to a bar. I am not a slut. I do not throw myself at men, and have therefore never been hit on. By _anyone_.

So it was a bit of a shock when a man was suddenly sitting across from me. He smelled like beer and looked like a horse. No, that is not a complimentary euphemism. He was also as old as my father. Maybe older.

He didn't really make much sense, using innuendo so old fashioned and particular to this time period that I couldn't understand a word of it, but it was a strange mixture of horrifying and flattering that out of all the women in the tavern I was the one he chose to bother.

I was saved from an awkward situation when he just passed out backwards, drunk. I went very still and very quiet, looking around and hoping no one thought I'd attacked him, but the only person who even glanced his way when he fell over was a dark-haired man standing at the bar, talking with the barkeep, and he just shrugged and went back to talking.

I had no idea what to do with myself. If I went out and tried to find the Hawke's house, I would get lost in a heartbeat. If I went for a walk I would _still_ get lost in a heartbeat, and most likely get accosted in the process.

I needed to be _doing_ something. I went over to the barkeeper—Corff—and asked if he had any paper and a quill. He looked at me funny and shook his head, so I shrugged and went back to my table. Plan A was a bust. No drawing or writing for me!

At least, not until someone slid some parchment and an inked quill in front of me with a smirk. I think I may have gasped. He was short, almost half my height, with _fabulous chest hair that drew my eyes like moths to a flame. I couldn't help but admire the gorgeous crossbow at his back, oiled and glistening with a fresh coat of polish… a true Paragon of Manliness.*_

Varric.

I gushed over the paper and thanked him profusely and he just waved it off.

"Always good to meet a fellow storyteller," he'd winked and then vanished back upstairs.

I had just met Varric Tethras. And he had winked at me. Be still my heart.

So I spent the rest of the day illustrating and writing a short story revolving around a soldier at Ostagar, ending with his death and arrival at the Maker's side. It was all very poetic.

Hey, I used to write fan fiction. Back off.

So began my illustrious career in Kirkwall. Varric somehow got a hold of that story and for some odd reason he just _loved_ it, so he published it with some of his less risqué stories and all of a sudden the two of us are famous.

Well, our names are famous. No such thing as author photos, after all.

Maybe I could still make this work.


	7. Ch 7: Love Thy Neighbor

**Lesson Number Three:**

**_Love Thy Neighbor_**

* * *

><p>*So Varric got a hold of the last entry and edited the part about himself.* I'm not sure why I'm surprised. I'm also not sure why I didn't change it back.<p>

His handwriting is so much nicer than mine; it seemed a shame to scratch it out.

Oh dear… I need to learn to hide this better. If Isabela gets a hold of it and 'fixes' it up, I'm going to die of mortification.

Excuse me while I go find a better place to stash this. Maybe in between pages of Anders' manifesto? Even Isabela leaves _that_ alone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Have you ever been stabbed? It's not a pleasant experience, and I suggest avoiding it when at all possible. Makes me feel bad for all the times I've gotten my characters stabbed in my writing over the past year, because <em>oh holy Maker<em> _it_ _burns!_

To say Garrett had a panic attack when it happened would be an understatement on par with saying Gamlen is a crotchety old man. I think he and Carver actually argued over who would carry me to the healer, which is funny in retrospect but was seriously bad timing at the moment.

Carver won, by the way.

This was not the first time the two brothers had been to see the reclusive Darktown Healer, but it was the first time _I'd_ be seeing him.

The rest of it was a blur of motion and sound that seemed a million miles away, and it didn't even really hurt anymore so it's ok, you can stop freaking out now Carver.

Remember how I explained what healing magic felt like? Like warm water on your bare skin? That was just what Garrett and Bethany's felt like; which comprised the entirety of my healing knowledge thus far, but that's not the point.

_This_ was something different. It was like… completion. As if a missing piece of myself had finally connected and I could _feel_ the soul of the healer. I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. Words fail me at times like this, so forgive my lapse into the romantically poetic goop that has replaced by brain.

It didn't feel like warm water. It was more like what I'd felt when I first used magic; lightning crawling over every inch of skin. From the muffled curses I heard, that might be exactly what happened, too.

I was so very tired. Surely Garrett and Carver wouldn't mind if I just… fell asleep. Right?

Right.

Good night…


	9. Chapter 9

**Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Are you ready? I hope you're ready. Here goes.<p>

…dramatic pause…

_I'm a virgin._

I know, I know. Shocker, right? I only tell you this so you can better understand the intense confusion I felt the moment I opened my eyes and saw the healer hovering over me. My first thought was not "Oh look at this handsome man at my bed" or even "Why is he watching me sleep?"

No. My first thought was "Why am I naked?"

Because I was. Under the sheet. I was naked. It was very… distracting.

I think I even said that aloud. "Why am I naked?" And I _swear_ he almost smiled. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in all my nineteen years. I am not exaggerating. I was _that_ out of it that his half-smile was about to melt my bones.

I was not self-conscious. Everything in his manner screamed _Healer_, and I was not ashamed to be bare beneath my little sheet. Chances are he'd already seen everything I had on display, and in… larger proportions… regardless.

But what I _was_ self-conscious about was when Carver and Garrett burst in when they heard my voice and I _shrieked_. Loud. In fact, all three of them winced and I think the glass in Antiva may have shattered.

"What's wrong with her?" Garrett was shouting over me as I screeched like a banshee.

"I am _naked!_" I screamed at them. "Get _out!_"

And they beat a hasty retreat, blushing scarlet, as my healer laughed. It was like music and I almost swooned. Apparently I am a hormonal mess after being stabbed.

I was sitting bolt upright, clutching the sheet to preserve my dignity, eyes fixed on the far wall as I tried not to be mortified that the two men I considered _brothers_ had almost caught me in my all-together.

"You know," the healer was saying as he began checking the sight where the Coterie's dagger had sunk into my side. His fingers were warm, and I wasn't sure if it was _him_ or _his magic_ that made them that way. "That scream puts Sharlocks to shame."

Sharlocks. Shrieks. He is _such _a comedian.

"They should have knocked," I insisted, indignant. "What if I hadn't had this sheet? I could never look them in the eye again! That would make family dinners incredibly awkward."

I am very chatty when I'm nervous.

And this handsome man made me _very _nervous.

The healer paused and looked up at my face. "They're your brothers, then? Forgive me, but I don't see the resemblance."

"Not my real brothers, no," I admitted, hugging the sheet to my chest as I tried not to shiver at the feel of his fingers on my bare side. I have never been touched by a man before. At _all_. This was a novel experience, and I would remember it fondly for years to come. "I met them during the Blight, and they sort of adopted me."

"I see."

I'm not really sure if he was actually interested in my story or not. He might have just been trying to distract me from what he was doing, but it wasn't working. It _tickled_. I am very ticklish, and I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the giggles as I clutched the sheet with my other hand for dear life.

"Sorry," I gasped out, "I'm ticklish."

He smirked a little. "Good to know."

Was he _flirting_ with me? I have no previous experience with things like that, so I really had no clue if he was or not. Not that I'd know how to respond if he _were_… which he probably wasn't, considering how he was being a perfect gentleman. I do not know why this irritated me.

"So…" I began nervously. "…am I all right? I'm not going to die?" Again?

He stepped back so he could look me in the eye and it was like being reprimanded by my father. I did not like comparing a man I thought as ridiculously attractive to my father. It was wrong on so many levels.

"Yes, but it'll probably scar. You should be more careful on the streets at night." I could almost hear the _young lady_ that went unsaid at the end of that sentence.

I bristled defensively, eyes hard. "I didn't _mean_ to stumble into that fight! You can thank Garrett and Carver for attracting trouble like magnets. I was perfectly content to _not_ get stabbed, thank you very much."

I think my indignant tone of voice amused him.

I clutched the sheet tighter and looked around like a skittish deer. "But… thank you. For healing me. Garrett's idea of healing is to slap some elfroot on it and call it a day."

The healer's eyes softened and he stopped reminding me of my father. Which was _great_. "No thanks necessary. It's what I do, after all."

I clenched my fingers around the sheet and nervously met his eye. "Erm… my dress… do you know where it went?"

The amused look was back and he nodded towards a chair where my dress had been tossed. My heart sank at the sight of it. If I ignored the bloodstain that dominated the entire right side and the grime crusted into it where I fell, it _might_ still resemble that dress Bethany loaned me. A little.

"Damn it," I sighed. "Now I'm going to have to walk around Lowtown in my underwear."

"I wouldn't recommend that," the healer mused as he headed for the screen. "I'll see if your brothers have anything to wear."

Oh yay. Carver's grimy tunic or Garrett's outer coat. Choices!

While he was gone, I took the opportunity to wrap the sheet more firmly around me like a toga and held it up with one hand. The healer came back with Garrett's coat, which barely reached my knees but I could button it closed, so that was a plus.

He turned his back while I struggled into my bloodied undies and shrugged the coat on. When I was decent, I cleared my throat and he turned with a gentle smile at my bedraggled state. Hardly a great first impression.

"Maybe I should start wearing armor," I muttered to myself as he led me out into a large room where more cots were set up. I was suddenly thankful he'd taken the foresight to move me to a back room before undressing me.

I was barefoot, which was not always an intelligent thing to do in Kirkwall, but my shoes were missing and I really didn't want to put them back on anyway. They reminded me of that night in Ostagar.

While Garrett fussed over me and Carver stood uneasily nearby, I offered my hand to the healer, and he shook it with an amused smile.

So glad I'm so _amusing_ for you, Mr. Handsome Healer Hands.

"Thank you again, ser," I insisted. Whether he wanted my thanks or not, he was getting them anyway.

"Anders," he smiled.

That _smile_. My brain stuttered to a halt and all conscious thought fled from my mind, leaving me focused on the feel of his hand in mine. Garrett elbowed me and my head restarted.

"Liz," I managed.

He smiled again and the boys ushered me out in a flurry of hands and questions and apologies, leaving me in a daze and thinking about gentle hands and warm, amber eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Firstfall, 9:31 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Winter in Kirkwall is vastly different to winter back home. If I can even call it 'home' after all this time.<p>

For one, it never really gets 'cold' in the city. Something about all those bodies packed in so tight, or something equally ridiculous yet logical. It doesn't really snow, either, just sort of gets chilly. The Hawkes don't find it cold, either, having grown up in Ferelden where it snows most of the year. But the native Kirkwallers are shivering in their boots and complaining about the bitter cold and it's actually rather humorous.

I still don't have a hang of the months in Thedas. I want to call this time of year _November_, even though technically November doesn't exist here. I spent a lonely yet festive Satinalia (a sort of "yay it's winter" holiday) at the Hanged Man with Varric and the Hawkes, where we told stories and tried to ignore the fact none of us could afford presents.

Like a Thedas Christmas. Heh.

After my little adventure on the wrong end of a Coterie dagger, I put more effort into what I wore. I spent most of the daytime huddled in my room at the Hanged Man with fabric and clothing I'd bought with the money Varric gives me as my 'share' of the profits, trying to fix it up to look less like second-hand clothing and more like appropriately badass mage armor.

Eventually I settled on a black trench-coat-like cloak and some high black boots. I wore a tunic and trousers underneath because I was _through_ with dresses, and I could move easier in pants than a skirt anyway. There wasn't much in the way of hair care products that I could use, so I washed it the best I could and just sort of let it flop and curl of its own design to mid-back.

I spent a hilarious amount of time in front of the mirror, fussing with my wardrobe and trying to make last minute changes before I worked up the courage to go downstairs.

I'm not sure who I was trying to impress with my costume change, but the way everyone downstairs turned and gaped as I came down the steps was oddly flattering. Garrett even started blushing, which was awkward but made me feel pretty anyway.

Varric started taking notes—never a good sign—and I sent him a Look that warned him to behave. I have no idea if he obeyed it or not.

Probably not.

The whole gang was here, ready to discuss the Deep Roads expedition Garrett and Varric were going on, so I snagged a seat between Fenris and Aveline since they were least likely to try and start a conversation with me. I didn't really know any of Garrett's friends all that well except for Anders, who never came to the Hanged Man anyway, so I didn't have much to add when they tried to talk with me.

Bethany was there, and she sent me a welcoming smile which I returned. She was my sister in everything but blood now. She'd been taking me out to the Wounded Coast to help me control my magic better, and she seemed impressed with my progress.

Her logical explanations for how magic worked made absolutely no sense, so I just sort of made up my own and did what felt right, and it worked.

"All right," Garrett cleared his throat to get our attention, and once he had it he continued. "We can only take a small party into the Deep Roads, so I need to know who would be interested in going."

I wasn't all that thrilled about the prospect of being buried underground with the darkspawn, but I'd like the chance to practice my magic on things that actually deserved to die, so I spoke up.

"I'd like to go if you'll have me," I put out there in a small voice. Carver opened his mouth to object (he and Bethany had been banned from going for Leandra's sake) but Garrett quelled him with a glare. "I mean… I don't have any reason to stay here except for Varric, and he'll be going too."

Garrett considered me for a moment before nodding. "We could probably use your magic, Liz. Thank you."

I slumped in relief. I thought for a moment I'd have to fight with him over it.

When no one else expressed a desire to go to the Deep Roads of their own free will, Garrett furrowed his brow. "It would probably be a good idea to bring along Anders, since he's a Warden and a healer."

Hmm. Now I was rethinking my decision. Weeks, maybe months, trapped underground with a man that made my knees weak with his mere presence…

Sounds like a plan.

"Have you asked him?" I wondered. "He might not be able to leave the clinic."

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "We don't really see eye to eye… maybe someone else should ask him."

_Someone else_ being me, of course. It was no secret how I felt about the man, except to Anders himself, and he was nicer to me than anyone else. Probably because of how young I looked.

"Fine, Garrett," I huffed in mock exasperation, "I'll go ask him."

Garrett beamed. "Thanks, Liz. I owe you one."


	11. Chapter 11

**Firstfall, 9:31 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>To say Anders was not excited about the prospect of venturing into the Deep Roads was... true on most counts.<p>

I couldn't win him over with logic (he really, _really_ hated the Deep Roads) so I won him over with my own insecurities. I wasn't ashamed to admit things to him that I wouldn't tell anyone else, because he's a _healer_ and he _knows_ these things even before I say them aloud.

"Please, Anders?" I begged. I am not ashamed to beg him because he is gorgeous and I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. Discreetly. "I'll be the _only_ woman in an expedition full of _men_. What if they get… handsy?"

Saying things like this to a man with a spirit of _Justice_ inside his head wasn't exactly fair, but it was a validated concern of mine. Men in Kirkwall were not as polite as men in America, a fact I had come to be intimately familiar with on several occasions.

"Wait," he interrupted, frowning, "_you're_ going to the Deep Roads?"

"Yes." I put my hands on my hips and dared him to ask that question again. "I asked Garrett if I could go and he said yes. I'll never learn how to use my magic if I don't actually fight things."

I think I broke Anders a little with that. He looked positively gobsmacked.

Yes, gobsmacked.

"You're a _mage_?" he asked incredulously.

Wait. Did he not know…?

"Um. Yes?"

He just stared at me, as if trying to decipher if I was insane or not.

"I've only had magic about a year," I explained, "when I electrocuted a darkspawn as we fled Lothering."

And then those warm fingers were pressing my temple and he was concentrating and my brain just _melted_. He was… sensing my magic, or something, but I didn't care a whit about that. He was _touching me_ and I never wanted him to stop.

I am hopelessly infatuated with this man.

"Hmm… interesting."

THERE. That phrase, right there. Remember how I said I hated that phrase? Here is the first time I heard it during my time in Thedas. At least he sounded genuinely curious about it rather than just humoring me.

I think he said something about my magic being… different… or something… I wasn't really paying attention because he _was still touching me_ and it was difficult to do much more than just gape at him. If he noticed how every time he so much as poked me I went completely brainless, he never mentioned it.

"So you'll come?" I blurted intelligently as soon as his fingers weren't against my skin anymore.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair and aged ten years in as many seconds. I felt kind of bad for pushing it, but I really wanted him down there with me.

"I'll feel a lot safer if you're with me," I admitted in a soft voice.

There. What man can resist the puppy eyes? Not Anders, apparently, because he mock-scowled at me and agreed to go.

It is at this point where I took leave of my senses and squealed. I was just that happy about the whole thing. Anders was amused with my reaction, up until the point where I practically pounced on him and hugged him tight.

He went rigid, as if he simply could not understand why I would hug him, but he was standing there looking so _huggable_ that I just couldn't help myself.

It started out innocent enough. Just a hug of thanks to a friend. And then my mind caught up with my body and I was _hugging Anders_ and I fit _so perfectly_ against him and the world stuttered to a halt. I quickly let him go before it dragged on into impropriety and had an apology ready, but it died on my lips.

Anders was _trembling_, fingers clenched into fists, and I honestly thought he was about to either yell or cry. I hoped he did neither, so I took a step back and mumbled a quick goodbye and a promise to come visit him sometimes tomorrow and I fled.

It wasn't until much later, as I looked back on this defining moment, that I realized the darkness in his eyes was something other than anger.


	12. Ch 12: Once More Unto the Breach

**Lesson Number Four:**

_**Once More unto the Breach** _

_(On the Deep Roads)_

* * *

><p>At first, I really didn't want to include my experiences in the Deep Roads in this little memoire of mine. There are very few good memories I can safely associate with the Deep Roads, but the few that there <em>are<em> I suppose are worth remembering.

You know how all those fan fiction stories people write where they insert themselves into Thedas and retain all their knowledge of events that occur in-game, turning into some kind of magical god-character who can predict the future?

I was nothing like that. Looking back I can draw parallels between the world of _Dragon Age_ and the world I'd been thrust into, but at the time they were completely separate realities. Just assume that I have no outside knowledge of events and you'll have a more accurate picture of why I did what I did.

Besides, I'd spent the past _year_ living in Kirkwall, and by then the memories of my life before were beginning to fade to the background. I was making new memories, a new life, and there was no place for reminiscing.

I just thought I should remind you that I was _not_ some kind of omnipotent, all-knowing superpower. I was just me. Liz. Trapped underground with monsters straight out of a nightmare, trying to stay alive one step at a time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Haring, 9:31 Dragon **

**The Deep Roads**

* * *

><p>I had never suffered from claustrophobia until I set foot in the Deep Roads. It was horrible. Tons upon tons upon <em>tons<em> of rock right above your head, pressing down, crushing, held up only by _more_ tons of rock that could come crashing down at any moment.

The only one who actually seemed _excited_ about being down here was Bartrand, and he was a little 'off' to begin with. Garrett and Varric were all right, at least on the surface.

But me and Anders?

We had miniature panic attacks every time a pebble fell from the ceiling. If I hadn't been so engrossed in spine-melting terror, I might have appreciated how every stray sound in the stillness sent us jumping closer together as if we could somehow _sense_ that we were the only ones affected by being underground. He didn't even protest when I ended up clinging to his arm and shaking, wishing for sunlight, for fresh air, for _sky_.

In fact, I think he clung right back.

Neither of us paid much attention to Varric's teasing or Garrett's insinuations. We were much too preoccupied trying to ignore the fact that we were _trapped underground_ to care about what everyone else was saying.

The feeling did not fade with time.

We set camp near an underground spring, which was nice, but it was so _dark_ outside the ring of torches and grease-fires set to reduce smoke. I took first watch because there was no way in _hell_ I was getting any sleep tonight. Not with the scrabbling of Deepstalkers in the shadows or the skittering of giant spiders.

Giant. Spiders.

I'd like to bring your attention to the first entry where I made it perfectly clear that I _loathe_ insects. And these insects were bigger than I was. I was not happy.

It was also incredibly cold, which was odd. I had expected it would be stifling, being so close to the lava and whatnot, but it was _freezing_. I shivered next to one of the controlled mage-fires Garrett had set up (Anders and I had no aptitude for fire spells) and kept a wary eye on the darkness.

I jumped a little when Anders sat down next to me, looking equally miserable, and then huddled against his shoulder for warmth and comfort.

I tried to make small talk, telling him in vague gestures about where I grew up. He didn't pay attention until I started waxing poetic about my cats, and then we spent several hours whispering about our mutual love of small, furry animals. Namely cats.

We ended up forgetting to wake up Garrett for his watch, so we pretended it was planned that way and I skittered over to wake up Varric for third watch and then retreated to the bubble of warmth that seemed to have surrounded Anders.

Neither of us got any sleep that night, but neither did we wet ourselves in terror. So that was a start.


	14. Chapter 14

**Haring, 9:31 Dragon **

**The Deep Roads**

* * *

><p>Anders and I latched on to each other through some mutual agreement that we would rather not have to deal with this insanity alone, so there was rarely a moment where he wasn't hovering nervously nearby or I wasn't clinging to his arm like a lifeline.<p>

We didn't have to talk about it, because we could both see it in the other's eyes. The fear. The worry. The trepidation. The _confinement_.

Anders could sense the darkspawn before we saw them, so they never took us by surprise, and it felt _good_ to unleash my newfound magic against something that deserved to die. In the heat of battle, I could forget that I was underground, surrounded by immeasurable tons of stone and rock.

Anders, too, held nothing back, and together the two of us slew the majority of everything we came across in a flurry of ice and lightning that carved a swath through the darkspawn like an exotic dance. It was a sight to behold, my Tempest and his Blizzard joined together in a storm that tore the monsters to pieces.

And then the corpses stopped twitching and the others stopped staring at us as if we were gods, and the darkness returned and we went back to hovering over each other and trying to distract each other with talk of cats and sunlight.

And then Bartrand betrayed us.

My memory of what occurred after the door slammed shut is… hazy. Vague. I remember hyperventilating; hugging myself off to the side, out of the way. I remember having a full-out panic attack as silently as possible, shaking and trembling like a brittle leaf.

I remember… arms. Around my waist. Hugging someone that made the magic in my blood spark in that special way unique to Anders. We clung to each other for sanity and whispered nonsense words to each other in reassurance until we both came down off the ledge and regained enough control to follow Garrett and Varric further into the thaig.

Neither of us spoke a word, leaving Varric and Garrett to fill the silence with talk of revenge and freedom and hope. I don't think I let go of Anders' hand the entire time, both of us casting with one hand and mingling our magic together in a strange joining of mana that made our spells both more potent and more wild.

When the _rocks_ got up and attacked us I wasn't entirely sure I wasn't just hallucinating, but Varric and Garrett saw them too, so we killed them. Can rocks die? Well, they crumbled, at least.

When we encountered the Hunger demon, Anders and I both attacked it before it could finish speaking, to the amusement of Garrett and the irritation of Varric.

I don't remember how the fight with the huge rock wraith went.

This is because something that felt like a boulder knocked me into the wall and the world snuffed out like a candle. I awoke to Anders kneeling over me, hands glowing blue with healing magic, and I felt it again.

Completion.

It just… clicked. When he lowered his hands and his magic faded away, it was like he took a piece of me with him. I tried to meet his eyes, still kind of groggy from my impact with the wall, but he was studiously avoiding my gaze.

This was curious, but not as important as getting to my feet. He helped me up and I smiled at him in thanks, and he smiled tenuously back.

I cried when Varric found the key to the door in the wall, to freedom. I cried like a little girl, but I was laughing all the same.

Garrett and Varric had found enough treasure to purchase the entirety of Hightown, and we stuffed our bags with as much as we could carry. I stuck to things that looked shiny or pretty, rather than what was valuable, since this was Garrett's expedition, not mine.

I packed my bag full to bursting with interesting little knickknacks and a handful of gold coins, along with a robe I found and a couple of the smaller gemstones. There was a book there in a language I couldn't read, so I passed it to Anders and he thumbed through it while we walked to keep his mind off the ceiling overhead.

Varric assured us he'd get a team down to collect the rest and it would be distributed evenly between the four of us. I fiddled with the small little things I'd picked up and put in my bag to pass the time, aware of Anders peering over my shoulder to see what I was doing.

There was a silver goblet with a pretty gold filigree design around the rim, some little round things that Anders called 'skyballs' which were painted to resemble the night sky at various times of day, a 'Spiral Eye' robe I decided I'd keep for emergencies, the book I'd handed to Anders which turned out to be an _Arcane Warrior_ tome written in Arcanum (he offered to teach me how to read it), about twenty sovereigns in gold coins, and an engraved dagger with a chip missing out of the blade.

Anders had just grabbed random things and put them in his bag for Hawke, but I did catch him putting some jewelry in his pockets before I had a chance to see what they looked like.

By the time we could see the exit and the night sky, I had broken into an awkward jog and I could hear Anders close behind me. I collapsed into the sand outside the tunnel and just lay there staring up at the sky, smiling in relief. Varric and Garrett laughed at me when they came out and saw me splayed out in the sand, but Anders just smiled and took several deep breaths of the first fresh air we'd had in weeks.

We decided to camp out one more night and make the trek to Kirkwall in the morning, which was fine because I wanted to get a good night's sleep for once anyway. I still took first watch, though, since I was so excited about getting out of the Deep Roads that I wouldn't be able to fall asleep.

Anders stayed up with me, sitting right next to me on our log out of habit from our time in the Deep Roads, and we just sort of sat there with these giddy, goofy smiles on our faces.

We were alive.

We were _free_.


	15. Ch 15: Never Play Cards with a Pirate

**Lesson Number Five:**

**_Never Play Cards with a Pirate_**

* * *

><p>After our Deep Roads adventure, something changed between Anders and I. We just couldn't stop <em>touching<em> each other. Little accidental-on-purpose brushes, reassuring touches of fingers to hands, things like that.

Neither of us mentioned it. Me for fear of him pulling away and him for… some other reason.

Of course the rest of the party would notice.

Of course.

We returned from the Deep Roads with high hopes that came crashing down once we reached Gamlen's hovel.

Bethany, sweet, innocent little Bethany, had been taken to the Circle and Carver had gone in after her.

I was proud of Carver for looking after his little sister, even if it meant he had to join the Templars in order to do so, but Garrett was practically catatonic. I left him in Varric and Leandra's capable hands and retreated, unsure what I could say that he hadn't already said to himself.


	16. Chapter 16

**Guardian, 9:32 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I suck at Wicked Grace. I'm all right at Diamondback, but I'm almost positive Isabela and Varric cheat something fierce. At least I wasn't the only one who was awful at cards. Anders was pretty terrible, too, but he never really seemed like he was <em>trying<em> to win in the first place.

"So kitten," Isabela began, startling me out of my intense Card-Concentration and I fumbled for a moment before I got a grip on the cards again, "A little birdie told me your Nameday is coming up."

Garrett. I leveled a glare his way capable of melting stone, and he ducked his head apologetically.

"Feb—er, 23 Guardian," I grumbled.

Isabela slammed her mug down on the table and I jumped, dropping cards everywhere. I was very jumpy lately. "Andraste's tits, kitten! That's tomorrow!"

I blinked, not even bothering to collect my dropped cards. It was an awful hand anyway. "It is?"

I was not good at keeping track of the days. The new month system was still difficult for me to wrap my mind around. I busied myself gathering my cards back together and laid them facedown so Isabela could have my full attention.

"It's not a big deal, Bela. It's not like an age milestone or anything."

Well, that wasn't strictly true. You only turn 20 once.

In fact, Isabela said that exact thing. "You only turn twenty once, kitten."

Now I suddenly had the entire table's attention. How on Earth Isabela knew my age is still a mystery, but apparently that was not the age the table had been expecting.

"You're only nineteen?" Garrett asked, wide-eyed.

"Uh… yes. Why, how old did you think I was?"

Aveline frowned. "You look older. Twenty-five, maybe?"

I smiled at her. Flattery was something I was still getting used to, and from _Aveline _of all people it was a rare treat. "Well that's new. Most of the time people assume I'm a lot younger than I really am."

I couldn't help but notice all the men at the table looked astonished, and more than a little guilty. I narrowed my eyes at them and Isabela followed my line sight and then _cackled_ with laughter. She and Varric began whispering to each other and then Varric was laughing too and I huffed, folding arms over my chest.

"I'm so glad this is amusing for you," I growled. I purposefully avoided looking at Anders, afraid that he would have that aghast expression on his face, too.

Isabela quickly took control of the conversation again. "We need to celebrate, kitten."

"Celebrate what? A year closer to my death?"

Isabela snorted. "Your entrance into womanhood, of course."

That was new. I asked her about it later and apparently in Thedas you aren't considered an 'adult' until you're twenty. Makes sense, I suppose, but it was still a surprise. She also explained, in very vivid detail, why all the men at the table looked so guilty once they figured out I was still technically a child.

I don't think I've ever blushed that much in my life.

She and Varric chased me out and said they needed to _plan_, and I became understandably very nervous as the door closed behind me. I had nothing to do now since she'd practically kidnapped Anders—I mean _all my friends_—so I wandered up to Hightown and found myself at the Chantry.

Obviously I never got into the Chantry's religion. I am very happy with my _own_ religion, thank you very much. But I could draw enough parallels to not blatantly offend anyone. I walked in and almost smacked right into deliriously shiny armor.

My first thought was _Templar_ but the armor was white and my next thought was _Sebastian_. I had only met the Royal Archer once or twice when Garrett convinced him to come to the Hanged Man. He reminded me too much of all those pious church-goers who believe they hold the answers to the universe. That isn't fair of me, but it's true.

"Lady Hawke," he smiled.

Garrett had taken to introducing me as his little sister, so I sort of adopted his last name. Better than being called _Lady Little_ or _Little Miss_. I'd heard enough of those to last me a lifetime.

Lady Hawke. Reminds me of that movie where the woman turns into a hawk during the day and her true love turns into a wolf at night, so that they're only together at twilight. I cried during that movie. More than once.

"Prince Vael," I replied. If he wasn't going to call me by my first name, I wasn't going to call him by his. "Sorry for smacking into you, but Isabela ran me out of the Hanged Man and I wasn't sure where else I could go."

"There is always room in the Chantry for the Maker's children," Sebastian assured me. "But why would Isabela run you out of the Hanged Man?"

"She's planning a Nameday party for me," I shuddered. "It's tomorrow, apparently. I'd forgotten all about it."

"Well in case I do not see you, happy Nameday, Lady Hawke."

I smiled politely at him and decided I'd rather take my chances in Lowtown than sit here and chat about my impending womanhood with Sebastian.

That was a conversation I was not looking forward to having. At all.


	17. Chapter 17

**Guardian, 9:32 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Apparently Isabela's idea of a great Nameday game is a variation of strip-poker. I think I paled considerably when she voiced her opinion. For several reasons.<p>

One: it was strip-Wicked Grace. I've already told you how much I sucked at that game.

Two: it was _strip-_Wicked Grace. I… was not looking forward to sitting there naked in front of a group of mostly men and lusty pirates.

I had already determined that Anders had not in fact seen me naked that night in the clinic. He'd had one of his female assistants disrobe me and the sheet had covered all the important bits as he healed my side. So.

Anders was going to get quite a show!

BUT! Anders sucked at Wicked Grace, too. So maybe _I'd_ get a show. Maybe this was Isabela's master plan! It was enough of a possibility that I agreed without too much hassle, still blushing to my ears as I waited for her to deal the hand.

Sebastian and Aveline had begged off as soon as Isabela opened her mouth, leaving the rest of us sitting around with various levels of nerves in our expressions. Fenris looked about as stoic as usual. Merrill was hopping in place, not understand the significance of the 'strip' part of the game. Varric had his familiar gleam in his eye and I knew at that moment he would not be losing a single article of clothing. Isabela also had a gleam in her eye, and I knew she would be naked in moments. Garrett was blushing as hard as I was, but he seemed eager to give it a shot. Anders had a carefully blank expression on his face—probably fighting off Justice's disapproval—but I caught him sweating a little.

Isabela purposefully threw her best hands and was in her smalls in mere minutes, chucking clothing around the room in a whirlwind of fabric. It really wasn't all that different from her usual outfit, and I noticed Garrett having a hard time keeping his eyes off of her. His inattention cost him his shirt, and he sat there grumbling, topless, arms folded to try and preserve some dignity as the others teased him.

Varric was dominating us all, and in a matter of rounds we had all lost at least one article of clothing. Fenris had shed his clawed gauntlets, ignoring Isabela's pout. Garrett had taken off his shoes in addition to his shirt. Anders had shrugged off his robe, leaving him in a tunic and trousers, and he looked so different without the feathered pauldrons that I think I gaped at him a little until Isabela kicked me under the table.

I had been getting steadily worse hands since the game started, and I was pretty sure Isabela had a hand in this. I slumped my shoulders as I lost, eyes fixed on the table as I contemplated my predicament. I had never been anything less than fully clothed in public. I never even went swimming.

With a sigh, I sat back and pulled off my shirt, clutching it to my chest as I blushed crimson, ignoring Isabela's catcalls and taunts that I was cheating. With a pout I wadded up the shirt and chucked it at Isabela's head, smacking her in the face as she laughed. I folded my arms over my bra and stared resolutely at the table, refusing to meet the gazes directed my way.

My eyes absently traced the tribal tattoo curving over my collarbone and down to my ribs, the black dragon still as crisp as the day I'd had it done a few years back on a dare during my rebellious days. It wasn't large, just a little black dragon design that curved over my collar and down my left shoulder, but it wasn't something I advertised having, and now the whole table knew it was there.

Reluctantly I looked up and, as I'd suspected, all the men were staring at me. I wasn't as busty as Isabela, and I didn't have her curves, but I wasn't _terrible_ looking. I glared at Fenris and Garrett in turn, making them blush and look away when I caught them staring, and then cautiously glanced over at Anders.

He was studiously staring at his hand of cards, resolutely not looking over at me, and I felt a rush of affection towards him for respecting my privacy… such as it was.

Over time I stopped being self-conscious about sitting there in my bra and started to enjoy the game. By the time it was over, all of us were sitting there in our smalls except for Varric and Merrill, who were both fully clothed—Merrill through no skill of her own, but Varric's generosity.

Isabela tried to start another hand but I made a strangled protest that got her attention.

"Bela! We don't have anything else to _bet_," I protested. She smirked.

"Sure you do, kitten."

I blushed. Did she expect me to sit here _naked_? Underwear was bad enough. "Um. No. I am not going to sit and play cards in nothing but the skin my momma gave me."

Isabela pouted. "Spoilsport. You're halfway there already!"

I winced and shifted, trying to hide myself with my arms as nonchalantly as possible. "I think you're plenty naked for all of us, Bela."

Isabela had chosen to shed her breast band instead of her pants, and she had been sitting there bare-chested for the past half hour. I'm pretty sure Garrett was going to go blind from staring at her so long. At least she'd effectively drawn attention off of _me_ and onto _her_.

I'm pleased to announce that I was not alone in my protesting. Fenris, in fact, was quite grumpy about showing so much skin—and yes, the markings _do_ go all the way down—and he was actually already halfway dressed again before I'd even finished speaking. Garrett looked pretty brain-dead but I was sure he'd rather not go much farther considering all he had left was his trousers. Anders had hardly spoken a single word to any of us since the game _started_, but I'm pretty sure that had more to do with Justice being an arse than a lack of desire to see me or Bela naked.

"All right," I slapped hands on the table, "I'm officially declaring this little mortification over. Bela, give me my clothes."

When she hesitated, I held out a hand and wiggled my fingers with a _give me the clothes before I electrocute you_ expression. She made a big show about looking around the room and digging through the piles of clothing and coming up empty, shrugging and looking entirely unapologetic. Varric shuffled through the nearest piles too and looked far too innocent for my liking.

"Isabela," I made sure to enunciate her name with the utmost care, and she blinked guilelessly, "where are my clothes?"

Merrill hopped in place. "Oh! I know! Isabela told me to hide them so you would _get some_."

I stared at her for a minute before Isabela's carefully constructed mask spluttered and crumbled as she cackled. It was… rather devious, actually. No one had been watching _Merrill_ when there had been plenty of gorgeous half-naked men and a topless Isabela sitting around.

Looking back on this, I can admit that it was actually a pretty funny prank. But at the time, I was about one twitch away from either full-blown panic or smacking Isabela upside the head. Maybe both.

I hunkered lower in my seat as the others went about collecting their discarded garments and fantasized about all the different ways I could get revenge. Of course, anything I could come up with Isabela would probably _enjoy_ and that would completely ruin the point.

Something draped around my shoulders and I jumped, twisting in my seat to find Anders pointedly looking at a point across the room, still dressed in his tunic and trousers. I looked down and melted when I noticed the feathered pauldrons on either side of my face, and I stood and pulled the robe tighter around me.

It smelled like elfroot and lightning and _Anders_.

Was I _smelling_ his coat? Wow. I am such a creeper.

"Thank you, Anders." I smiled up at him and he glanced down and met my eyes, smiling back.

"As entertaining as it'd be to watch you skip through the Hanged Man in nothing but your smallclothes…" he smirked and I'm relatively certain my brain stuttered to a halt. It has to be against a law somewhere to be that handsome. Maybe in Antiva?

"Uh," I responded gracefully. He had this _knowing_ look in his eyes and I briefly considered just pouncing on him. Then I remembered his reaction to a simple _hug_ and decided against it. I wasn't going to spend my time chasing this man; if he wanted me, he could come and get me. Yes. "Thanks."

He nodded. "I'll stop by tomorrow and pick it up." He shrugged sheepishly. "It's my only one."

"You don't have to do that," I replied quickly. Wow. Ten seconds and I've already discarded my _Do Not Chase_ motto. Classy. "I can just pop by the clinic and drop it off."

Anders smiled at that. "Thanks Liz. Happy Nameday."

I watched as he slipped out the door with the others on his heels, aware of Isabela still standing topless beside me. It was _very _alarming to stand beside a bare-chested woman and I fidgeted, wondering how to politely excuse myself from her presence without having to look at her. I doubted my ability to keep my eyes on her face.

"You should have pounced on him," Isabela pointed out.

I slumped miserably and clutched the coat tighter. "I know."


	18. Chapter 18

**Guardian, 9:32 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I think I spent a good hour or so just standing outside the clinic, staring at the door with Anders' coat over my arm, playing through all possible responses and scenarios ranging from "Hey, here's your coat" to a High Dragon bursting through the door wearing a top hat and setting the coat on fire. Odds of that second one happening weren't very high, but better safe than sorry.<p>

The refugees that went through the doors all gave me this weird look, like I had grown a second head, and I just sort of waved awkwardly at them and tried to turn myself invisible. It didn't work.

I had actually considered keeping the coat for my own creepy purposes and buying him a new one, but something told me if I did that I would have officially moved into _stalker fangirl_ territory, so I resisted.

Barely.

Finally, I steeled myself and pushed open the door, ready to thrust the robe in his direction and play it nice and cool, as if I hadn't just spent the majority of my morning hovering anxiously outside, trying to figure out the best way to not come off sounding like a crazy person with a feather fetish.

The feathers were surprisingly soft, by the way. I snuggled with them while I slept and pretended it was him. I am so utterly pathetic.

Anyway.

"Good morning."

I jumped at least a foot in the air, clutching the coat to my chest as I whirled towards the unexpectedly familiar voice, eyes wide. Anders was drying his hands on a towel almost directly behind me, his tunic covered in blood, and for some inexplicable reason the sight of a blood-spattered Anders was incredibly alarming.

Then he shrugged the tunic off and reached for a clean one and all conscious thought ground to a halt. Anders. Topless. I had seen him shirtless just last night, but apparently I hadn't quite worked up an immunity to seeing him like that yet.

"Guh," I blinked, and shook my head once he'd pulled the new tunic over his head and raised a brow in my direction. I shoved the coat at him, staring resolutely at the wall over his shoulder. "Coat."

An hour of intelligent, thoughtful contemplation on all the possible ways this exchange could go down thrown right out the window. I almost wished that dapper High Dragon would show up and spare me the mortification of my inane stuttering.

Did he have any idea that just being in the same room with him reduced my thought process to that of a two year old? Because it did.

And he looked so damn _amused_ by the whole thing I just wanted to punch him. Of course I _wouldn't_, because he was gorgeous and the last thing I wanted to do was alienate him, but that didn't mean I didn't _want _to.

"I was wondering when you were going to come in," he mused as he pulled his arms through the sleeves of the robe, and I covered my eyes with my hand.

How long did he know I was out there? An hour? I prayed for the ground to open up and swallow me, but I didn't know earth magic yet and so my prayers went unanswered.

"I was brainstorming," I admitted in a low grumble more for my ears than his, but of _course_ he heard me.

"Brainstorming?" He sounded so _entertained. _So glad my misery is such a source of amusement for you! If he says one word about my eloquent delivery I am going to punch him in the face, gorgeous apostate or not. "Is that what that was?"

I almost punched him. _Almost_.

"So help me Anders I will _end _you." I pouted and folded my arms, looking all the world like the petulant child I felt like inside. He chuckled and patted me patronizingly on the head and I swear I was about one millisecond away from tackling him to the ground.

Hmm. That brought up all kinds of inappropriate thoughts and I suddenly needed to get the hell out of there before I started blushing and he starts asking _questions._

"Yes, well," I cleared my throat, edging back towards the door. He followed me there, like he was _stalking_ me and I wasn't sure whether I should be worried or pleased. I settled on a little of both. "Thank you kindly for letting me borrow your coat." _And letting me sleep with it while pretending it was you. Like a creeper. _"You're a real life-saver."

I was halfway out the door by now, and he was leaning there against the frame looking like some sort of tribute to manliness and I _really_ needed to leave. Immediately.

"I try my best," he mused as I practically retreated from the clinic at as respectable a speed as possible while still _fleeing_. "In a hurry, Liz?"

I am a horrible liar. I open my mouth to lie and nonsense words come out that not even a deaf person would believe. Add that to the fact that simply being anywhere _near_ him makes me unable to form coherent sentences, and there's really nothing safe I can say to that without looking like an idiot.

That didn't stop me, though.

"Yes. I… need to… do that thing. You know. That thing Varric asked me to do with him. At that place. The Hanged Man. Yes. Very important thing, that." I'm practically running backwards now in an effort to escape the smirk on his face as I stumble over my pathetic excuse. "So I need to go do that. Thing. Bye!"

And I run, chased by the sound of his laughter.

I'm going to kill Isabela.

…right after I thank her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN****:** _I just wanted to thank those of you that have given me such encouraging reviews. :) It's nice to know that someone's getting some laughs out of this and/or enjoying my particular brand of insanity._


	19. Ch 19: If at First You Don't Succeed

**Lesson Number Six:**

**_If at First You Don't Succeed…_**

* * *

><p>So, ignoring the utter headcase I become every time Anders so much as <em>breathes <em>in my direction, I think I handled the Nameday episode rather well. I managed to not kill Isabela, although to be honest I actually spent most of my time thinking of ways to _thank_ her.

I missed sleeping with his coat. It was fluffy and warm, like it was enchanted, and my mattress smelled like him for a few days after that, which was _nice_.

Oh Lord. I hope his coat didn't smell like _me_ when I gave it back to him. Oh… damn it! He's going to know I slept with it.

Like a _creeper_.

Shit…


	20. Chapter 20

**Cloudreach, 9:32 Dragon **

**The Wounded Coast**

* * *

><p>Remember when I said I wasn't an outdoorsy person?<p>

That was an understatement.

I am _allergic_ to the outdoors. Why Garrett decided to drag me out with him to the Wounded Coast is anyone's guess, but I was pouting and sulking and not above whining and complaining to get my way. It was _hot_ and _humid_ and _sticky_ and I was not a happy camper.

Happy camper. This is probably the first time I've been able to use that expression and mean it literally.

I have never been camping. Ever. Unless you count that one time where we set up a tent in the backyard and slept out there _ten feet_ from the house. I don't consider the Deep Roads as camping because I was too busy trying not to _die of fright_ to truly appreciate the Underground Experience. So suffice it to say that I had absolutely no idea how to set up a tent, start a fire (I could smack flint to tinder all day long and not get a spark), hunt—oh Lord _hunting_—or anything else even remotely helpful.

So I sat there being useless while the others went about setting up camp, knees pulled to my chest, pouting at empty space. Garrett and Anders were just so… _disgustingly happy_ about being out here that it was almost too much for me to handle. At least Merrill wasn't here so I didn't have to hear about how great nature is and how I should learn to appreciate all the plants and animals.

I hadn't seen Fenris since we started camp, but I honestly wasn't too concerned about him. The man could take care of himself.

Garrett sat down heavily beside me, grinning like an idiot, and I just frowned at him.

"If you keep brooding, Liz, you're going to turn into Fenris," Garrett helpfully pointed out, taking a swig from his flask.

"If I suddenly sprout pointed ears and man-parts you're more than welcome to say I-told-you-so, Garrett."

Hawke choked on his water and Anders snorted from his spot by the fire.

Why was Anders by the fire? He should be sitting where Garrett is sitting so I can ogle him and forget that I'm _outdoors_ and surrounded by _insects_. I frowned harder.

"He has a point though," Anders added, sounding _far_ too happy for my liking. "I'd have thought you'd enjoy some fresh air once in a while."

"I can get perfectly good air _indoors_ thank you very much," I groused, folding my arms. "It might smell like the back end of a horse, but at least the Hanged Man doesn't get sand in places I didn't know I _had_."

Garrett raised a brow. "You're awful cranky today."

"You'd be cranky too if you had enough bug bites to pass as a giant pimple. The next time you try and drag me to the coast I'm going to tell Varric about that time in the Blo—"

Garrett clapped a hand over my mouth with a scowl. "No need to go _blackmailing_ me, Liz." He lowered his voice to a shrill hiss. "And you _swore_ never to speak of that again."

"Now I'm all curious," Anders muttered from the fire, and I pushed Garrett's hand away so I could flash him a shit-eating grin.

"What was his name, again?" I mused, leaning away from Garrett's grabbing hands. "Serenity? Serendi—" I laughed when Garrett growled and pushed me off the log. "So long as we have an understanding, then."

Garrett pouted and refused to look at me, face crimson with his blush, and Anders was smirking knowingly at him now. "I hate you a little bit right now."

I patted his cheek. "You love me and you know it, Gare."

He heaved a dramatic sigh. "I _suppose_…" I pulled him into an awkward sideways brother-hug and he grumbled half-heartedly as he retreated to a safe distance.

"What about me? Do I get a hug?"

I jump a little at the voice on my other side, realizing belatedly that Anders is sitting _right beside me_ and I lose the ability to function like a normal human being. Using every ounce of suave that I possess (which, at this point, isn't really all that much) I turn to him with what I hope is a calm, cool, and collected expression on my face.

"You think you deserve a hug, do you?" I am very impressed with how level my voice is. Not desperate or needy or in an _Oh Yes Please_ tone of voice at all.

He shrugs, something… strange… in his face. Loneliness? Longing? I really need to get an expression encyclopedia. "I didn't know you were one to play _favorites_, Liz."

I think I'm looking too much into this, but I _really_ want that hug. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything in the whole world. I want it more than I want to be _inside_. In fact, if I do not get this hug in the next minute, I may just combust.

But there is no way my first real hug with Anders is going to be sitting on this log. So I hop to my feet and stand expectantly in front of him, hands on my hips as he stares questioningly up at me.

"Come on, on your feet!" I make a come-hither gesture. "If we're doing this, we're doing it _right_. I want a proper hug from my favorite apostate." _Preferably without clothes. _"Up!"

He smirks indulgently, as if I'm some small child he needs to coddle before I cry, and pushes himself to his feet.

I had forgotten how _tall_ Anders is. I feel like a midget standing in front of him, having to crane my neck to see his face. Before I have a chance to second-guess where this newfound confidence is coming from, I fall into him and hug him tight like a giant Anders-shaped teddy bear.

My first thought is _I love this coat_, and I can still smell the elfroot and magic that I'd been missing since I gave his robe back.

Now, I love hugs. I am a very huggable person, and I've chased away more than one prospective friend because of my incredible love of hugging. Hugging makes me feel loved, and safe, and cared for, and special, and I'm sure if I spoke with a psychiatrist they could explain my need for touch, reassurance, and comfort. But I've done the psychiatrist thing and all I got out of it was a headache and a bill.

Hugging is my drug.

Hugging _Anders_ is like being drunk.

Having Anders hug me _back_ is…

Wait. Anders is hugging me back. It was so very different from that random hug I'd given him in the clinic, because then Anders had been stiff and jumpy and not entirely sure why I was _touching_ him. Now Anders is relaxed and warm and his arms feel like home.

It…

There just… aren't words. I feel _safe_, and that's such a novel experience that I can't help but smile and try to hold back the ridiculous tears threatening to spill. I am a very emotional person, and it had never been more obvious than at this moment.

I held the hug a little longer than what generally constitutes a friend-to-friend embrace, just lost in the moment like the emotional young woman that I am, and I could tell the exact moment where Anders realized this wasn't just a hug for the sake of fairness. Something… shifted… in how he held me, in the tense of his arms, and it was suddenly _incredibly_ intimate without either of us moving a muscle.

I honestly have no idea how long we stood there, and it wasn't until Garrett pointedly cleared his throat that I jumped back, face heating in an odd mixture of embarrassment and anger—at Garrett—as I pointedly did _not_ look at Anders' face.

I resolved not to look at him. I would _not_. I am a grown-ass woman and I _do not_ have to look at his face to reassure myself that I wasn't the only one who felt something change there in the middle.

That mindset lasted a grand total of six seconds, and I looked up.

He was smiling. _Smiling_. Not that indulgent half-smile or his smirk, or that tired-almost-but-not-quite-exhausted smile that he wore in the clinic and at the Hanged Man. This was a _real_ smile, and it was _beautiful_.

This is a beautiful moment. Now if I could just keep myself from ruining it.

"I think I love you…r hugs. Your hugs. I love your _hugs_."

_Damn it. _

Foot, meet Mouth.

I'll just leave you two alone to get reacquainted.


	21. Chapter 21

**Cloudreach, 9:32 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>The walk back to Kirkwall was incredibly… boring.<p>

Not _awkward_ exactly, but no one really had much to say. There had been a _huge_ spider in the Bone Pit. I mean _HUGE_. It barely fit in the cave at all, and I shrieked like a little girl when it landed in front of us in all its mandible-snapping glory.

But other than that and my _horrible_ ability to keep my mouth shut, it really wasn't a very eventful trip.

Well, that isn't strictly true.

I was practically _vibrating_ with the effort of _not_ hugging Anders again. It was a little bit silly how much I wanted another hug, but I knew better than to press my luck after my little slip earlier. It didn't help that he seemed to have reached the conclusion that tormenting me was his new favorite pastime.

Now, maybe he didn't _know_ he was tormenting me, but that didn't matter. Because he was. I would have expected him to back off a little after my needy little hug-fest, but instead he seemed to have gravitated towards me even _more_. I'm not complaining, but he was seriously testing my ability to not just squeal and grab him like my own personal teddy bear. I haven't wanted to hug someone this badly since I was _six_.

It was mildly alarming.

So I did what any rational person would do when faced with this situation.

I pretended it had never happened and sang the Star Spangled Banner as loud as I could in my head. I think I ended up humming it after a while, because the three men started staring at me while we walked.

"What song is that?" Garrett piped up from the front of our little conga-line of misfits.

Hmm. How do I explain the United States National Anthem to a bunch of men from Thedas?

Challenge accepted.

"It's a song from where I come from. Like a motto for the whole country," I began.

"You mean…" Garrett floundered for a moment, "_America_?" he whispered the word, as if he would be struck by lightning if he said it aloud.

"Yes, _America_," I mimicked. "It's called the Star Spangled Banner." I really hope they don't ask me to sing it, because I am a bad person and don't know all the words.

"You don't talk much about it," Garrett pressed on, trying to fill the awkward-but-not-quite silence that had drifted over us since the Bone Pit Spider Debacle. "Is music important there?"

"Well, I for one love music," I insisted with a crooked smile. Of all the topics Garrett could pick to fill the silence, he picks my lunatic transplant story? Good thinking, Garrett. "I used to love to sing."

"You sing?"

I turned towards the voice, more than surprised that Fenris was even speaking to me. He wasn't looking in my direction, but I knew an olive branch when I saw one. "You don't have to sound so disbelieving," I pouted, even though the only person near enough to me to see it was Anders, who smirked. "I _used_ to sing. I was in a choir for a bit, but then my voice kinda tapered off and I started sounding like a dying animal."

I could hit maybe three notes perfectly, and everything else falls flat or hits a sharp without me meaning to. I was never good at singing in front of an audience. It was all right in chorus since I was surrounded by incredibly talented students, but alone on a stage? No thank you.

"Do _you_ sing, Fenris?" I teased, mentally trying to imagine that low baritone raised in song. The image in my mind was incredibly entertaining.

He didn't even deign to reply to that, only increased his pace so he caught up with Garrett and gave me his back. I rolled my eyes at him. I bet he was a closet singer.

"How does the song go?" Anders asked innocently from beside me.

When had he ended up beside me? I'd been making a concentrated effort to stay a few steps ahead or behind him so I wouldn't have to scream song lyrics in my head to distract me.

"Emm… I don't remember all of it, just a few words and the tune," I admitted sheepishly. Please don't ask me to sing it.

He wanted me to sing it. I could see it in his eyes as he pretended not to watch me just like I was pretending not to watch _him_. But he was too much of a gentleman to ask me to, I'd bet. Why did that make me feel guilty?

I sighed and glanced furtively towards Garrett and Fenris, and resigned myself to just singing as quietly as humanly possible while still being audible. Maybe I'd get lucky and they wouldn't hear me.

I started humming again. "_Oh say can you see… by the dawn's early light,_" I hummed, trying to make it sound like I knew more of the song than I actually did. I think I mixed up the verses and I may have left out an entire stanza, but they wouldn't know that.

I felt kind of bad for screwing up the National Anthem so badly for a group of foreigners. It was like letting my country down, or something.

I knew Garrett and Fenris were listening to me butcher the Star Spangled Banner behind them, and I tried to pretend they weren't there and walked with my eyes closed.

More than once I felt Anders pull on my arm when I got too close to a ledge around corners and I resolved to walk with my eyes closed more often so he was inclined to touch me. I am devious.

"You have a good voice," Anders murmured after a significant pause when I was finished.

"I murdered that song though," I insisted, "I only know half of the lyrics. Now, ask me to sing some Enya and _then_ you'll hear a whole song."

He smiled a bit at that. "Liz," he began in a ridiculously polite voice, "would you ever so kindly sing some Enya for us?"

I like Enya. She has a vocal range that's pretty close to what I can manage, not to mention her songs are just so… _haunting_. I love them.

So I obliged him and sang Celtic melodies all the way back to Kirkwall, with no one saying a word. It worked for a while, too. I forgot I was outside and that I'd been secretly trying to grab Anders' hand without him noticing.

At least, it worked until we got back to Kirkwall and I somehow ended up following Anders to Darktown while still singing eldritch songs and drawing every eye we passed. When I stopped and smacked into Anders' back when we reached the clinic, I looked around in confusion.

"Oh," I said in a small voice. I'd followed him home like some kind creepy, hormonal puppy. "Whoops."

"You really do have a beautiful voice," Anders smiled.

"I've got nothing on Enya," I murmured. "She wrote the thing, I just copy her." I took a step back, hands clutched behind me to stop them from reaching for him. Again. "I seem to have taken leave of my directional sense."

He shook his head and pushed open the clinic door, still smirking back at me. "I didn't know you had a directional sense to start with."

I made a face at him and he laughed. He should laugh more often, it takes _years_ off his face. I needed to get away before I did something stupid.

_You should jump him_, a suspiciously Isabela-sounding voice popped into my head.

Well that settled it. I would be doing the exact opposite of that because any advice Isabela gives is sure to end badly. I smiled at him and waved as I walked backwards.

"I'll see you at the Hanged Man?" I offered. He never came unless I guilted him into going with promises of food and cards. He was my human barrier between me and everyone else, since we were the only two besides his Royal Shininess who never drank anything but water.

He paused, hand on the doorframe, before he nodded.

Unable to hide the goofy, relieved grin, I turned on my heel and sped away, humming the Star Spangled Banner under my breath.


	22. Chapter 22

**Bloomingtide, 9:32 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>You know what I miss most about life back home?<p>

Hot showers.

It's amazing the amount of things you take for granted when you do them every day, but I would eat my own shoe if it meant I could spend ten minutes in a nice hot shower. I was never a fan of baths, but that's all I've got now unless I want to use a sponge, and I can't say I was pleased about it.

My obsession with being clean is something of a joke with Garrett and his friends, but I just can't walk around without being as clean as humanly possible without torturing myself about it until I got back to the Hanged Man. Amazingly, the cleanest person in the whole group is probably Anders, which is impressive considering where he lives and what he does, but it makes sense. It would probably be in bad form for a healer to make his patients even _more_ sick by spreading germs and whatnot.

Not that anyone in Thedas knows what germs are.

It's positively shudder-inducing watching the Kirkwallers walking around without the slightest inkling of personal hygiene beyond "but I bathed last week." I'm grateful that my handsome apostate is always so clean. It makes it easier for me to not feel guilty about smelling his coat, which at this point is getting kind of scruffy looking.

I really want to buy him a new coat. _Badly_. I also want to steal his old one and snuggle with it. But it's not like there's a whole lot of stores in Kirkwall that specialize in mage robes with _feathers_ on them. And the feathers are important. He must have feathers.

A card smacks me in the face and I realize I'd drifted off again. Feigning nonchalance I don't feel, I flick the card back across the table to Isabela and look down at my awful hand.

How do I always end up getting these terrible hands? I don't think I've had any good cards for _months_. Not since before my Nameday, at any rate. I'm beginning to suspect not only are Isabela and Varric cheating, they're somehow rearranging the cards so that I always end up with the short end of the stick.

It is not amusing.

Well, it's sort of amusing, since Anders smiles every time I scowl and throw my cards down like a child. I like seeing him smile, so maybe being bankrupted by rogues is worth it.

I tried getting Isabela drunk once in the hopes that she'd forget how to cheat, but that plan didn't work out very well. Either Isabela can't hold her liquor at _all_, or she was just using the excuse of being drunk to crawl over the table and sit in Garrett's lap.

It was actually rather incredible watching Isabela straddling his lap and making Garrett even _more_ flustered while she told animated stories which involved much hand waving and shifting around. I felt bad for him. He never stood a chance.

The more Isabela drank, the more ribald her stories grew. If I had to put a rating on her mouth, it would be Z for Zevran. I'd be having a lot more fun listening to them if I wasn't burning with embarrassment or trying to catch her cheating. Which I didn't, by the way. I swear she was using some kind of pirate magic.

Eventually I just gave up and chose to watch rather than play. No one disagreed; they'd all been witness to the hands I'd been dealt and I'm sure they took pity on my dwindling pile of coins.

I sat at the table, trying not to be too obvious while I watched Anders across from me, and wondered why I never took the seat to his left. It was always empty unless Sebastian joined us, which was hardly ever, and it looked surprisingly Liz-shaped.

I wondered if it would be too obvious if I got up and moved over there. Probably.

_Next time._ I promised myself. _Next time that coveted Liz-shaped seat shall be mine! Muahahaha!_

Am I laughing creepily in my own mind, now?

Great. That straightjacket keeps looking better and better.


	23. Ch 23: It's Not You, It's Me

**Lesson Number Seven:**

_**It's Not You, It's Me**_

_(On Relationships)_

* * *

><p>If there's one thing Isabela has taught me over the years, it's that men are stupid.<p>

That might sound harsh, but hear me out. I spend two years trying to not throw myself on this handsome man, and when I finally get around to working up the courage to actually approach him, he pulls some "stay away; I'll hurt you; I'm a monster" shit.

I really, _really_ hate Justice. A lot. But I am _not_ going to let him get off easy with this. If he thinks I'm going to have a freak-out over his abomination status, he's in for a surprise.

Because this?

This means war.


	24. Chapter 24

**Wintermarch, 9:33 Dragon**

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I am a heavy sleeper. Someone could come in banging pots and pans next to my ear and I wouldn't wake up. But if someone <em>touches<em> me while I'm sleeping?

I jerk awake and roll straight off the bed.

I'm weird that way.

This is how Isabela found me: tangled up in the flimsy sheet on the floor, swearing like a sailor as I flailed about trying to disentangle myself. Ok, I wasn't _really_ swearing like a sailor, but it sounds better than "shrieking like an infant."

When I finally got untangled and glared at my favorite underdressed pirate, there were only two words she could possibly say to make me forgive her and get up off the floor in a timely manner.

And she said them.

"It's Anders."

I was out the door before she'd finished speaking, wearing little more than a nightdress that hung to my knees, and tripping over the sheet still twisted around me. "What happened? Is he all right? Does he need help? Was it the Templars?"

She finally clapped a hand over my mouth to stem the flow of questions and she leveled an _extremely_ amused look at me. "Your man is fine, kitten." _My man? Since _when_?_ "He's downstairs with Hawke."

And he was. Downstairs with Hawke, I mean. Not _mine_. Well. Damn it.

"What's going on?" I asked as soon as I reached the table where Garrett and Varric were speaking with Anders. All three sets of male eyes turned to me and I was immediately aware that I was standing there in a flimsy nightgown. I ignored it and waited for a response.

"Templars found Blondie's clinic," Varric began when neither Garrett nor Anders were forthcoming. "He needs somewhere to lay low for a while."

"Fenris said no," Garrett piped up, ticking off his fingers, "Merrill's a blood mage, Isabela always has company, I'm still in a shack with Gamlen, Aveline sleeps in the barracks, Sebastian practically lives in the Chantry, and Varric's having some associates over."

I blinked. "_No one_ has any space?" I found that hard to believe. Surely one of them liked Anders enough to give him a couch or something.

Garrett shrugged sheepishly. "Weeeeeelll… not _no one_, exactly."

And suddenly Isabela's rude awakening made a whole lot more sense. This was sad. I was living in a room at the Hanged Man and I was the _only_ one willing to share space with poor Anders? The man in question looked completely dejected, head resting on one hand. I'm sure he'd rather be at the clinic, but if the Templars were on to him, he'd need to close it for a while.

"He can stay with me," I spoke up, knowing this was why they'd brought me down here in the first place. "It's not the lap of luxury, but there's a lock on the door at least." At a cough from Isabela, I rolled my eyes. "There _was_ a lock on the door before someone chose to break in rather than knock."

"I did knock!" Isabela insisted indignantly. "You sleep like the bloody dead!"

"_Anyway_," I spoke over her objection, "Anders," I smiled when he looked over at me, "you're welcome to stay with me until this thing is cleared up. I'm sure I can find a cot or something and shove it against a wall."

"Thanks Liz," Garrett beamed, "I knew we could count on you."

To shelter my favorite healer ever? Of course you can count on me, Garrett.

Anders didn't say anything, just nodded when Varric and Garrett began questioning him and sent for a cot to be sent up to my room. I was squealing inside. Anders! In a room with me! I had no illusions anything was going to happen, but it would be nice to spend some time with him away from the others.

He laughs more when there isn't an audience watching.

While they worked that out, I dashed back up the stairs and began tidying the small room like a whirlwind. It wasn't messy since I'm a neat freak to the core, but there were clothes on chairs that really shouldn't be on chairs at all and a few of my sketches scattered around on every available surface. I stacked those in a pile and put them on an end table, quickly making the bed so it wouldn't look like I'd fallen out of it and gotten stuck in the sheet.

Which is exactly what happened.

I began pulling on some more decent clothes and was halfway dressed when the door opened and Isabela led Anders in. I stood there, frozen with indecision, caught in the middle of the process of pulling a shirt over my head. Isabela was blatantly undressing me again with her gaze and Anders' eyes had gone wide.

Oh God. I yanked the shirt down and blushed. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before (thank you, Isabela, and your brilliant Nameday schemes) but _still_.

"This isn't awkward at all!" I called out, trying for lighthearted but sounding a little bit desperate instead. "Come in, come in. I was just… tidying up some."

_Please Lord, strike Isabela with lightning before she makes a smart comment._

"In your underwear, kitten?" she smirked, and my hands covered my eyes.

Too late.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_I just wanted to thank all you lovely people who've left such nice reviews~ It's encouraging that people are enjoying reading this little story of mine as much as I enjoy writing it! Glad I could brighten your day one chuckle at a time!_


	25. Chapter 25

**Wintermarch, 9:33 Dragon**

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>There was no way in hell I was getting <em>any<em> sleep tonight. Not with Anders sprawled on that cot five feet away looking entirely too adorable for his own good.

I eyed his coat where it was thrown over a chair and debated grabbing it to sleep with, but figured being caught doing that would be a Bad Idea. I sighed and flopped onto my back to stare at the ceiling. It was a really depressing ceiling. There was this huge crack running from one corner to the other that sort of spiderwebbed across the whole roof and made me think it could come crashing down at any moment.

I needed to get a better place to stay.

I'd spent three years in this little room, give or take, and while it was inexpensive and close to most of my friends, it was high time I found someplace better. With my share of the gold from Garrett's expedition, I could easily buy a place in Hightown or at least somewhere nice in Lowtown and live comfortably for several more years. The only things I owned that I'd need to take with me were the knickknacks from the Deep Roads and my ever-growing pile of sketches and little stories I wrote when I was bored.

Which was often.

Inevitably my eyes found their way back to Anders, and I wondered how the man could _possibly_ be sleeping so heavily on that little cot. It couldn't be any worse than what he usually sleeps on, but I felt horribly guilty for making him sleep on it when I had a perfectly good bed.

We could probably both fit on it without having to touch. I resolved to ask him about it tomorrow.

Or was it today? I honestly have no way of knowing what time it is thanks to my windowless room.

I heard a noise from his side of the room and propped myself up on my elbow to look at him. Was he _whimpering_? Oh God. Was he having a Warden nightmare? He had curled up into a ball and it hurt my heart to see it, and I was out of the bed before I realized I'd moved. I have never slept in the same room with a person like this, and so I have no idea how to wake someone up from a nightmare.

Especially not a nightmare filled with images of darkspawn and corruption. I didn't envy him that.

I figure touching him would be a bad thing to do, in case it coincided with whatever was going on in the dream… maybe I could throw something at him or yell in his ear?

"Anders?" I whispered. Weird. I had meant to yell that. Something subconscious about being loud around a sleeping person in the dark, I guess. "Anders?" I said a little louder. He just curled into a tighter ball and cemented my resolve.

I poked his shoulder. That would have worked for _me_ in a heartbeat, but he just shied away from my finger and started whispering nonsense words that sounded suspiciously like "no ser, please ser," and suddenly my heart stopped.

This was _not_ a Warden nightmare.

"Justice you _ass_, wake him up!" I shouted, not caring if I woke up the whole bloody tavern so long as Anders opened his eyes. That spirit was going to get a serious talking-to the next time he shows his glowy face around me. When that failed to rouse him, I paced.

I considered beating him with a pillow, but I didn't want to traumatize him by waking up from what could essentially be a beating to _another_, fluffier beating. My eyes landed on his coat and I smiled. I plucked a feather from his pauldrons and hovered over him, lowering it to his nose, and tickled him with it.

His brow furrowed in confusion and he swatted at it while I grinned like a Cheshire cat. Oh my God he was _adorable_. Like a huge tabby cat!

I was relentless, and eventually he started laughing and trying to push my hand away and then his eyes opened and he looked adorably confused as he stared at me and my feather.

"Liz?"

"Yes, Anders?"

"Were you… _tickling_ me with a feather?" He looked positively dumbfounded, and I just smiled.

"Maybe. Did it work?"

"Did what wo—" his eyes blanked, and then refocused on me. He looked… _guilty_. Well that was unacceptable. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

No. I was just watching you sleep like a creeper and fantasizing about cuddling with your robes.

What I _actually _said was "No, I was already up. I tried to shake you out of it but you couldn't hear me. So I improvised."

He looked confused and more than a little amused now. "With a _feather_?"

I wagged the feather at him like a finger, _tsk_ing. "I guess I could have started jumping up and down on your chest instead, but this seemed like a better idea."

Anders hesitated, and then smiled tentatively at me, as if he'd scare me off if he so much as _spoke_ about what had just happened. "Thank you for waking me. I'm sorry you had to… see that."

"Don't be sorry," I insisted, poking him with the feather. "But I'm going to kick Justice's ass for not waking you up when I asked him to." His eyes widened at that, and I just smiled innocently. "Go back to sleep, Anders. I'll keep my feather handy."

He looked at the feather and then back at his coat with a growing smile. "Did you… take that from my robe?"

"Oh just go to sleep, Anders."


	26. Chapter 26

**Guardian, 9:33 Dragon**

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>The room was so empty without Anders in it. It was rather depressing.<p>

He'd only needed to stay a week or so, and now he was back at the clinic working to make the world a better place one wounded refugee at a time. I'd only had to wake him up with my feather twice; once for… that… and another time when he was having a Warden nightmare. _That_ had been disturbing. He'd been _thrashing_, and eventually I had to hold him down and use my weight to keep him still while I practically shoved the feather up his nose. He'd woken up to an armful of Liz and a nose full of feather, and I'd laughed at his expression so hard I'd cried.

It had been… fun. Having him there, that is. I'd been looking for a place to stay in Lowtown, and Varric was helping me pick out somewhere safe and close to at least one of our little group of misfits.

I walked into the room for our weekly Wicked Grace get-together, and stopped in the doorway. I was early, so the only ones there were Varric and Isabela, and I stared at the table for a good minute before deliberately sitting down in the seat across from the one I usually sit at.

The one normally left empty. The one next to _Anders_.

Isabela grinned knowingly at me and Varric just raised a brow before they went back to whatever they had been doing before I walked in, involving much animated hand waving and strange facial expressions. I pulled out some paper and began to doodle to pass the time as the others began filing in.

Anders was always the last one in, and I hoped desperately that he wouldn't take my old seat instead of the one beside me. Surprisingly, Aveline came to the game today and after a few not-so-subtle gestures from Varric and Isabela, she sat in my old seat, making me smile.

When Anders finally came in after the first hand was being dealt, he paused in the doorway, looking confused in that way people have when something is different, but you aren't sure what. I looked up from the pile of kittens I'd been doodling and smiled at him. He smiled back and walked past me towards his seat, and I vibrated inside, clutching the paper a little too tight.

He glanced down at the mound of cats I'd been drawing and he snorted a laugh, and I blushed for no apparent reason.

I actually was given some pretty good hands today, but I was so busy being excited about sitting so close to Anders that I was still a shoddy player. They expected me to _play cards_ when I've got this handsome man sitting a foot away from me? No thanks.

I have absolutely no idea what anyone said for the entirety of the game, because I was far too focused on the occasional maybe-accidental brush of elbows or knees and I was completely brain-dead for the evening.

Apparently the blankness of my expression was disconcerting to Aveline, who was across from me, because she frowned.

"Are you all right, Elizabeth?"

Aveline never called me Liz. She was the only one in all of Thedas who used my full name, and the sound of it coupled with her authoritative voice was enough to make me look up.

"Hmm?" I asked distractedly, looking back at my cards for the first time that night, surprised to find a winning hand. How long had that been there?

"Kitten's just a bit flustered," Isabela smirked from her end of the table, eyes peering over her fan of cards as if she knew the secrets to the universe. "She's got her eye on someone."

I felt Anders stiffen beside me, and I looked up, promptly forgetting about the cards as I glared at Isabela. Oh she did _not_.

"Oh?" Aveline asked, suddenly more interested in the conversation than the game. She spent so little time with us; I suppose my crush on Anders was news to her. I wonder if it was news to Anders, too. I suddenly wanted to slap Isabela for her big mouth. "Anyone I know?"

"Oh, you know him," Isabela was grinning, unashamed and unafraid of my wrath. "He's absolutely _delicious_."

"Bela!" I snapped. "Shut up!"

Garrett was hiding his face with a hand, and anyone who didn't know him as well as I did would think he was contemplating his cards rather than covering a smirk. Varric looked like he was taking notes in his head, and Merrill looked adorably innocent. Fenris was still staring at his cards with his normal inscrutable expression.

"Delicious? Why would she want to eat him?" Merrill asked, confused. I slapped a hand to my forehead as Garrett choked back a laugh.

"I'll explain it to you later, kitten," Isabela promised, still grinning in my direction, waggling her brows.

"He's a lucky man, then," Anders said in an incredibly calm voice, still staring at his cards as if trying to set them on fire with will alone.

Isabela cackled. "Oh Blondie, you have _no_ idea."

He really didn't. I stared at him in surprise. I couldn't be more obvious if I _tried_. Did he really not know?

"Anders?" I asked, not liking the look on his face. He looked angry. I was so confused. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he snapped, and I jerked back, eyes wide. He hesitated at the look on my face and sighed, pushing back from the table as he stood. "I… need to check on the clinic."

And he was gone. Practically _fled_ from the room as I stared after him.

"What the hell?" I said to no one in particular after he was gone. Isabela cackled merrily and I leveled a glare at her capable of melting steel as I stood, and she had the good sense to stop laughing. "So help me, Bela, if he closes me out after this I will _end you_."

And I turned and bolted after him, ignoring the looks exchanged at the table or the merry giggling of my least favorite underdressed pirate.


	27. Chapter 27

**Guardian, 9:33 Dragon**

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>"Anders?" I called tentatively, knocking on the clinic door. The lanterns weren't lit and the doors were actually <em>locked<em>. I didn't even know the clinic _had_ locks. "I know you're in there, Anders."

Silence. I sighed and leaned my forehead against the wood. This was either incredibly amusing or horribly depressing, and I wasn't sure which.

Was Anders _jealous_? Of himself? I snorted a laugh at that and knocked again.

"Anders, let me in. I don't want to break your door down but I will!" A pause. "All right! You asked for it!"

I took a step back and unleashed the biggest Force Push I could muster against the weak wooden door, and it creaked and snapped open, falling backwards to the floor as I stepped gingerly over it. I'd buy him a new one. With a better lock.

I wandered through the dark clinic towards the little back room he slept in and poked my head in. "Anders? Are you alive? Because it would really ruin my day if you weren't."

A soft chuckle was my only answer, and I stepped inside.

"I sure hope you're decent because I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell just happened." I folded my arms and glared into the darkness at where I assumed his bed was.

There was a spark of magic and a couple candles lit themselves around the room, and I blinked. Anders was sitting on the cot he slept on, looking miserable, and I sighed.

"Anders," I began again in a soft voice, "why'd you run off like that? Was it Isabela? Because honestly, that conversation could have gone _so_ much worse."

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit that I myself suffered from, and wouldn't look up at me. "I… don't know. I just… hearing about you and some other man, it just…"

"Wait, wait… me and some other man? Did I miss something?"

He cringed at his poor choice of words, and stood to pace the small space. "Look, I'm not good at the whole… _talking_… thing. In the Circle, things like this weren't exactly _allowed_."

"Things like what?"

He sighed, exasperated. Well, that makes two of us. "I know I don't have any kind of _claim_ to you or anything, but the thought of you and someone else just… I couldn't handle it."

I blinked. "There is no one else, Anders," I pointed out. "The whole damn table knows the only man I've ever looked at twice is _you_."

He blinked back, shocked. He was actually shocked. Was he _blind_? "Me? But… Isabela…"

"Isabela was being an ass, as usual. I don't know if you've noticed this or not, but every time I'm so much as _near_ you I turn into a blubbering lunatic."

He looked… relieved. Well, relieved and _guilty_ again. I really hated seeing him look guilty. "But…" he ran his hands through his hair, yet another nervous habit we both shared. "I'm an _abomination_, Liz. I'm not safe."

Was he really going to pull this shit with me? _Now?_ Make up your damned mind, man! "I honestly don't care about any of that, Anders."

He grabbed my shoulders as if he wanted to shake some sense into me, but I was way too distracted at being so _close_ to him to care about that. "A few years ago, maybe we could have had something… but I'll just break your heart, Liz. And that would kill me as sure as the Templars." He stepped back and sat heavily on the cot, head in his hands as I stared at him.

So he freaks out at the thought of me liking someone else, becomes relieved when he figures out I like _him_, then freaks out and tries to push me away with threats and ominous warnings? Well two can play at that.

I smile slowly, waiting for him to look up and see the predatory expression on my face, and he actually backs up a bit. "Challenge accepted."

"What—"

But I'm already out the door, humming to myself. This is going to be _fun_.


	28. Chapter 28

**Drakonis, 9:33 Dragon**

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I kicked the door open and stormed inside, hands on my hips as I stared at the sprawled, snoring figure of my dearest friend in the whole world. For now.<p>

I yanked the blanket off her sleeping form and cringed. Of _course_ she sleeps in the nude. Of _course _she does.

"Bela!" I shout as I proceed to beat her with a pillow. "Up!"

"I didn't do it!" she screams as she flails and falls flat on her face on the floor. She stays there for a moment before pushing herself on her elbows and blinking as she looks up at me. "Kitten?" Then the sleep haze falls away and her normal, lecherous grin returns in full. "If you wanted me on the floor, you could have just _asked_, dear."

I just beat her again with the pillow. "Up, Bela. Put some clothes on; I have an emergency."

She hops to her feet with _far_ too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning and I am treated to, yet again, the sight of a bare-chested Isabela. I keep my eyes resolutely on her face—not an easy task—and fold my arms, pillow ready.

"Oooh… are we going to shave Hawke's mabari again?"

I stare at her. "You… _what?_"

"Nothing," she waves a hand dismissively, making absolutely no move to put some clothing on. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, kitten?"

"_Please_ put some clothes on first," I beg her.

She snorts in a very unladylike fashion and pulls on some kind of frilly, lacy robe that does practically nothing to hide anything, but it's better than bare skin. And are those… _handcuffs_ chained to the headboard of her bed? Oh God I am _so_ out of my league here.

"I need your help," I begin, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. Maybe I should have waited until she _left_ the room to ask her this. "It's Anders—"

She pressed a finger to my lips and smirks. "Say no more. We've all watched you two dancing around each other like a couple of teenage virgins. It's rather pathetic."

I pushed her hand away and frowned. "So you'll help me?"

She slings an arm around my shoulder and I am suddenly given a face-full of Bela boob. "Kitten, by the time I'm done with you, the entire male population of Kirkwall will be drooling at your feet."

Yay?


	29. Chapter 29

**Drakonis, 9:33 Dragon**

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>This must be what a Barbie doll feels like.<p>

Well, if there were such a thing as _Pimp-Me Barbie_, anyway.

I feel _incredibly_ self-conscious in this outfit Isabela produced from thin air. It's the sort of thing women like Bela can pull off, but women like me just look _wrong_ in. It reveals more skin than it hides, not to mention I can barely take two steps in these shoes without falling on my face, and I'm pretty sure there's some kind of magic involved that's holding the whole thing up without the help of straps.

"Bela…" I trailed off uneasily after staring at myself in one of the huge mirrors dominating an entire wall of Isabela's room.

"Yes, kitten?" she replied, still holding a few pins in her mouth and I do _not_ want to know where she plans on putting them.

"I think this is sending the wrong message," I admit, shifting from foot to foot. "I want to go for _You want me_, not _You want me against that wall over there in the next ten seconds._"

She steps back and puts hands on her hips as she contemplates that tidbit of information. "There's a difference?"

I smack her without looking, and from her _oof_ I must have connected with her chest. Oh well. It's her fault for putting them on display like that.

"Yes, there's a difference! I don't want him to be looking at my _body_, I want him looking at _me_." I pause. "Does that make any sense?"

Isabela is silent for so long I begin to wonder if she'd just left. Or fallen asleep again. When I turn around, there's a very odd expression on her face and she looks _deadly_ serious.

"Kitten, are you in love with this man?"

I jerk back as if she'd just spouted fire and started speaking in tongues. "W-what?"

She stares at me for another long, excruciating minute, the odd intent expression never leaving her face, before her eyes soften into something almost _caring_. It's scary. "I know just the thing."

I watch as she dashes to a chest at the foot of her bed and begins flinging clothing through the air. I'm hit in the face with a bra that looks _far_ too small for Isabela's ample charms and I begin dodging the cloth projectiles that all seem to head right for me.

When she returns, she's carrying a black dress that is… oddly conservative for Isabela. It's absolutely gorgeous in its simplicity, though. No excess frills or laces, just an expanse of fabric that I doubt I could actually fit into if I tried.

"It's beautiful, Bela, but I don't think I'll fit."

"Nonsense," she frowns and holds it to my chest as if she could make it fit through will alone. She shoves the dress into my hands and turns me around to help me get off the ridiculously skimpy outfit she'd given me before. She actually turns her back to give me privacy and I stare at her, wondering what was wrong with her. "I don't hear you putting that on, kitten!"

I jumpstart back into the present and begin pulling the dress over my head, struggling to find the sleeves and the hole for my head, until it finally settles. It actually fits _perfectly_. It's frightening how well this fits. It fits better than Bethany's robe had fit. It's a bit bigger in the chest than I'm used to—it _is_ Isabela's after all—but as soon as I stop shifting Isabela is there with pins and fluttering hands and I just stand and take it.

She steps back and I stare at myself in the mirror. I look like a _woman_ in this dress. It still has a low V neckline that's deeper than I'm used to, but it's practically a Chantry frock compared to what Isabela normally wears. It's also floor-length, which I wasn't expecting, but it does have slits up the thigh so I can actually _walk_, which is nice.

"It's beautiful," I whisper to the mirror. Isabela pops up next to me and smiles. Not a grin, or a smirk, but a _smile_ and I wonder what's come over her. "What was it doing with all your other clothes?"

Something stormy crosses her face but is gone too fast for me to place it. "I got married in this dress, kitten," she says in a low voice, as if the walls were listening in. "They wanted me to wear white, but I figured a funeral gown was more fitting." Her voice is venomous, and I take her cue to drop it.

"Thank you, Bela, it's perfect," I smile, and it's true. "But when am I going have a chance to wear this? This isn't the kind of thing you wear to a card game at the Hanged Man."

She grins, and the old Isabela is back. "The Viscount finally got off his ass and gave Hawke the Amell estate," she speaks in a rapid-fire tone that I can barely keep up with, "I just _know_ Mama Hawke is going to throw some kind of ball to celebrate, and I'll make sure your man is there."

I smile. "You really thought of everything, didn't you Bela?"

She smirks and steps back, looking inordinately pleased with herself. "Of course I did. I'm _me_."

I pull her into a hug—you remember me saying how much I love hugs?—and she stiffens in surprise before hugging me back, a quick squeeze before she disentangles herself and pretends to fix her outfit, looking flustered.

"Thanks, Bela. You're the best."

She smirks again, but there's no heat in it. "I know, kitten. I know."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _Wow! Almost to chapter 30! And over 20 reviews! I love you all so much! *hugs for everyone!* _


	30. Chapter 30

**Cloudreach, 9:33 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I have never been so nervous in my life. I'd been staring at myself in the mirror wall in Bela's room for at least ten minutes, making minute adjustments to my hair every time a strand falls out of place. I haven't felt this twitchy since graduation.<p>

Isabela was going to be coming back in a few minutes to walk me to Hightown. Garrett and Varric had offered, but Isabela had chased them off. She wants my arrival to be a surprise so it wouldn't look like I was only wearing this for Anders.

Which I was, but Isabela says I couldn't let anyone think that _except_ Anders, hence the secrecy.

What if he doesn't like it? What if he doesn't _come_? Oh shit now I'm panicking. Calm down. Breathe. In and out.

The door slams open and closed and I jump at least a foot in the air, clutching at my chest as I stare wild-eyed at Isabela. She opted for a dress as well, only hers is cut off at the thigh just _barely_ modest and dyed a forest green. She and Merrill were going to match; I know for a fact that Bela took just as much pleasure dressing up Merrill as she did me.

"Oh stop fidgeting," she rolled her eyes and breezed to my side to fix whatever it was she'd done to my hair that I'd messed up with my twitching. I'd never seen my hair so _big_ and puffy before. I made a mental note to cut it after this; it was getting long again. "You look gorgeous, kitten."

I glance back at the mirror and have to admit she's right. I hadn't known I could look, well, _pretty_ doesn't exactly cut it, but I don't have the vanity to claim anything more than that. "You're sure he'll be there?"

Isabela just snorted at that and produced a thin cloak—a _red_ cloak—and draped it over me like a shawl. "Of course he will. I've threatened bodily harm to his person should he do otherwise."

I pull the cloak closer and boggle at the vibrant color. Nothing I was wearing was even remotely colorful. "Bela? Isn't this cloak kind of… bright?"

"Hmm? Oh!" she snapped her fingers and darted back to her clothing chest and began to dig through it. She came whirling back with a matching scarf and before I could so much as open my mouth she'd wrapped it around my neck. "Better?"

I blinked. Yes, actually. It was a startling contrast, but I trusted her judgment over my own in matters like this.

"Now remember kitten," Isabela began as she bustled around and pulled on her own stiletto heels. I had talked her out of getting some for me; I'd be falling over every other step otherwise. "You've got to walk the walk before you can talk the talk." I had taught her that phrase. I felt so proud. "So long as you _know_ that you're the most beautiful woman there, everyone else will see it too."

Easier said than done, but I smiled and nodded anyway. I didn't trust myself to speak without squeaking. I watched as Isabela slipped some daggers into the bodice of her dress and I blinked, trying to figure out where she had just hid them, but they had vanished into her chest and I had no desire to stare at her long enough to find them.

She approached with a sheathed dagger and looked me over, as if wondering if she could possibly hide it somewhere on my person, before she pounced and wrestled me until I was still and she could strap it to my thigh where the slit in the side didn't reach.

"Better safe than sorry, kitten," she smirked and took my hand, pulling me out the door.

Merrill was hovering outside the door in her matching green dress—it was even _more_ conservative than mine, Isabela was adorable when she was protective—and she perked up when we emerged.

"Oh! Liz you look so lovely!" she cooed as she twirled her fingers together and bounced. "I'm so excited! I've never worn a dress before. Do you think Aveline will wear a dress? Maybe it'll be a steel dress; she does love her armor. Oh, I'm babbling."

I smiled. Oh, Merrill. "You look absolutely precious, Merrill."

She beamed. "Oh! Thank you! The men downstairs said I looked 'scrumptious.' I wasn't aware so many men in Kirkwall liked to eat people. It's rather distressing."

Isabela smirked and took Merrill's arm while she hooked her other through my own. "Come on ladies, time to paint the town red!"

Merrill blinked as Isabela led us out the door, ignoring the catcalls from the patrons. She looked baffled. "But we're wearing green."

Isabela threw her head back and cackled and I laughed along with her. This was going to be a night to remember.


	31. Chapter 31

**Cloudreach, 9:33 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>The three of us arrived fashionably late—I had never really understood that phrase, but Isabela swore by it—and Bela stopped us outside the door to fuss over us like a mother hen.<p>

"Now kitten," she was staring at Merrill with her hands on her hips, "you remember what we talked about?"

"Oh, I know this!" Merrill lowered her voice in an effort to match Isabela's, and was surprisingly good at it, "_Wandering hands means missing fingers_."

I snorted a laugh and smiled, shaking my head. Isabela turned to me with the same intent expression and stared.

"And you, kitten?"

I sighed dramatically. "I have to walk the walk before I can talk the talk."

She beamed and pulled us both into an awkward hug. "There's my girls! Now let's get in there and make some jaws drop."

Isabela turned and opened the door with a flourish, and I heard a _crack_ as some unfortunate soul was hit in the face with the edge of the door. "Bring forth the ale and wenches! The kittens have arrived!" she cried, marching forth as if she planned to conquer the room one man at a time.

Merrill giggled and trotted after her, holding up her skirts as she ran, and I paused. Should I follow them? Or should I go look for Anders? The decision was made for me when Garrett materialized in front of me, rubbing his nose where the door had caught him, and I burst out laughing.

He smirked in reply before pausing and looking closer at me, letting his hand fall as his eyes widened. "_Liz?_ Is that _you_?"

I smiled. "Hey, Garrett."

He rubbed his eyes as if he were dreaming and goggled at me. "Maker's breath. You look stunning!"

I blushed. "Thank you. Isabela is a miracle worker." I winced as he rubbed his nose again. "An overeager miracle worker."

He chuckled. "That's all right. I can get Anders to look at it in a few minutes." My pulse jumped at the mention of Anders, and he must have seen it in my face because he smiled. "I was surprised when he showed up, asking nervously if Isabela had arrived yet. It sounds like she'd threatened him if he tried to skip."

"She told me something similar."

Garrett shook his head and offered his arm, which I took. "I can't wait to see the boys' expressions when they see that dress. I might have to break some jaws if they stare at you too long."

I swatted him with my hand and he just chuckled, leading me into a large room filled with people. Most of them were nobles, but I recognized a few of Garrett's friends that he'd met in the Red Iron and over the years as a go-to fix-it guy. While we walked I took a moment to study the white tux Garrett was sporting. I had never thought white dress suits looked good on men, too ostentatious, but it was so totally _Garrett_ that I just smiled. He drew attention like a beacon, and I'm sure he'd have women hanging all over him by the time the night was over.

We found Fenris and Sebastian first off in a corner away from everyone else, and the two stared open-mouthed when Garrett arrived with me on his arm.

"Lady Hawke?" Sebastian asked incredulously. "Is that you?"

I huffed. "How many times am I going to hear that tonight?"

Fenris chuckled and disguised it with a cough, but it was the best reaction I'd ever gotten out of him and I beamed in triumph. I would have to give Isabela a kiss after this.

"Forgive me," Sebastian said quickly, "You've always been a beautiful woman, but tonight you look…"

"Stunning?" Garrett grinned, and I elbowed him, making him laugh.

"You laugh, but it's true," Sebastian continued, looking far too serious for my liking.

I slipped out of Garrett's arm and excused myself with a smile. The man I _really_ wanted to find was Anders, and I was a woman on a mission. I ran into Varric—tripped over him, actually, which was embarrassing but hilarious—and he pointed me towards the library. Apparently Anders had been sulking in there since he'd arrived, and I headed there with purpose.

I slipped inside and found Garrett's mabari dozing by a fireplace, and I loved on him for a while before moving on. I was amused when he—I think Garrett named him Tigre?—got up and followed me rather than stayed by the fire. Dogs have always liked me, and apparently magical intelligent war-hounds were no exception.

We found Anders at a desk, hunched over a book he was reading, and I just stared at him, brain-dead.

Anders. In a _tuxedo_.

Be still my heart.

He'd cleaned up for this, if the suit was any indication, and he'd left his hair down and I had to clench my fists to keep myself from leaping at him and running my fingers through it. I missed his feathered coat, though, and I wondered if he felt strange without it.

Tigre whuffed his arrival and Anders startled, looking up at us. I watched as his eyes widened and he ran his gaze over me, making me blush. Not even Isabela had made me feel so embarrassed when she looked at me that way. He stood from the desk and smiled that _real_ smile I'd been missing since that day at the coast.

"Liz," he smiled wider, taking a step towards Tigre and I, "you look amazing."

I blushed harder and tried my hardest not to fidget or look down. _Walk the walk, Liz. Walk the walk. _"Thank you. You're looking rather handsome yourself."

Are you _flirting_ with him, Liz? Are you _really_?

Anders smiled again. He was _so close_ I could just reach out and grab him. My fingers twitched with the desire to do just that. He glanced down at Tigre who was sitting practically glued to my leg. "Lucky dog."

I snorted back a laugh and rubbed my neck sheepishly. Isabela could put me in all the clothes she wants, but if Anders so much as _looks_ at me sideways tonight I'm going to pass out. I just know it. I hear raised voices from the other room and I smile up at Anders—_he's so tall_—and shuffle my feet.

"You want to go out there with me? If I go alone Garrett will snatch me again," _I'd rather be snatched by you_, "and hide me away in a closet somewhere."

Anders tensed at that before relaxing and gallantly offering his arm. I'm positive he could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I took his arm, barely resisting the urge to sag into him. He smiled and led me back towards the door and I felt like I was walking on the clouds.

I barely noticed when Isabela and Varric began exchanging coins when I came out on Anders' arm, or when Garrett raised a brow and smirked at us. Tigre flopped back by the fireplace in the library, and I clung to Anders' arm to make up for the loss of security I'd felt with him at my side. Garrett appeared in front of us and I jumped a little, making Anders laugh and Garrett grin.

"Anders! Just the man I was looking for!" Garrett smiled sheepishly and rubbed at his nose, and Anders raised a brow.

"What'd you do, insult an ogre?" Anders _tsk_ed and let go of my arm to feel for breaks. "You're lucky this isn't broken, Hawke."

"Isabela was _very_ eager to get inside," Garrett explained dryly, wincing when Anders pressed his nose with his fingers and then sighed at the flare of blue light that signaled its healing. "You're a lifesaver, Anders."

"It was just your nose, Hawke."

Garrett recoiled dramatically. "_Just_ my nose? How _dare_ you! I'll have you know I love my nose just the way it is, thank you very much." He leaned closer with a slight smile and a wink in my direction before he turned back to Anders. "Mind if I borrow Liz for a moment? Mother is pressuring me to dance with someone, and I'd rather not have to juggle a bunch of noblewomen."

Anders hesitated, and I thought for a moment he might actually say _no_. "Of course, Hawke." Wow. Is it even possible to sound more reluctant? I doubt it.

I took Anders' hand and squeezed it with a warm smile. "I'll be back, Anders, I promise."

He relaxed a little and nodded as Garrett led me deeper into the room.

I raised a brow at Garrett. "You're walking on thin ice, Gare."

He shrugged innocently. "If I didn't get you now, I'd have to dance with some _lady_ or something. And Mother would throw a fit if I picked Isabela for my first dance."

"I have to warn you that I have no idea how to dance," I murmured as he tried to get me in the right stance. He just laughed.

"Yes, I gathered as much. On my _shoulder_, Liz."

I rolled my eyes and put a hand on his shoulder and my other in his outstretched hand. His other hand dipped too low and I slapped him on the ear. "Try that again, Garrett, and I'll sick Tigre on you."

Garrett pouted. "You're no fun."

"If you want fun, get Isabela." I smirked at him as the music—where had he been hiding the musicians?—started and he led me through some simple steps. I caught Leandra watching from the bannister upstairs approvingly, and I seriously hoped she wasn't getting her hopes up about the two of us. Garrett was like a brother to me. _Just_ a brother.

When it was over, I released his hand and stepped back with a smile. Garrett grinned and ignored the polite applause to go find Isabela, who was currently hanging all over poor blushing Sebastian.

I wandered back over to where I'd left Anders, but he wasn't there, so I shrugged and leaned against the wall to wait for him. I spotted him a ways off dancing with Merrill, and had to smile at the giggly expression on her face. Someone called her name and Merrill bounced away, and I slid smoothly towards him, tapping his shoulder to get his attention.

"Mind if I cut in?" I teased, smiling, and Anders smiled back, looking relieved. Did he think I'd run off into the sunset with Garrett after one dance? Oh ye of little faith. As I took his hand I thought it fair to warn him. "Like I told Garrett, I can't dance to save my life."

Anders just shook his head. "You can't be any worse than Merrill. Poor girl. I had to practically carry her through the steps."

I wouldn't mind you carrying _me_ through the steps. At all.

The music started up again and I quickly shifted into place, having to reach for his shoulder thanks to the differences in height. His hand settled at my waist and I faltered, sure my heart had just stopped, and then we were moving and I forgot how to breathe.

Anders was a _very_ good dancer. I didn't have to do anything but follow his lead and before you know it, we were dancing. _Dancing_. I kept my eyes locked on his face instead of my shoes like with Garrett, and the rest of the world ceased to matter.

I have no idea how long we stayed on the floor, but I _do_ know that at some unspoken signal we shifted closer together and the dance was suddenly far more intimate than it had been before. As the music began winding down and he twirled me to the ends of his fingers and back in, I ended up with my back pressed against his front and his arms around my waist and suddenly the room erupted in applause and I became aware that a circle of space had been cleared and we had an _audience_.

And then I forgot about the crowd watching us because I could feel his breath on my neck and I became aware that we were pressed flush together. If I tilted my head back like _this_ and he lowered his like _that_, I could reach him and I could find out for myself if he tasted as good as he looked. I leaned my head back against his shoulder and glanced up at him and my pulse skidded at the look in his eyes. I had never seen a man's eyes so _dark_ before, so _predatory_, and I wanted nothing more than to just sag back into his arms and let him do whatever it was his eyes were promising if I just _let go_.

He was practically _trembling_, and then he…

…stepped back. I stumbled a bit without him there to support me and someone took my arm—Garrett—and I glanced back at Anders in confusion. He was backing up towards the door, eyes alight with the blue of the Fade, and he mouthed two words to me that made me sag in Garrett's grip.

_I'm sorry_.

And then he turned and fled, the door slamming shut behind him like a thunderclap. Isabela materialized at my other side and she and Garrett hurried me into the library where Varric and Fenris were already sitting with Tigre, and I fell into a chair, still wide-eyed from what I'd seen in his face.

"What the bloody hell was _that_ all about?" Isabela blurted, waving her hands in the air as she stared at Garrett. "Even _I_ was getting hot and bothered from the want radiating off that man."

Varric frowned. "What happened? Where's Blondie?'

Garrett scowled. "He bolted."

Fenris turned away and stared at the fire, frowning, as Varric jumped to his feet.

"He _what?_" Varric demanded. "Son of a bitch. Blondie must have nerves of steel to walk away from her looking like _this_."

I managed a weak smile at that.

"He _is_ possessed," Fenris mumbled. "I doubt his demon would appreciate him receiving any attention beyond its own."

Garrett just furrowed his brow even further. "That doesn't excuse a damn thing, and he knows it."

"You want me to hurt him, kitten?" Isabela asked, pouting. "Because I want me to."

Tigre put his huge head on my leg and I rubbed his ears with a sad smile. "No. It's not his fault." Justice, I am going to find you in the Fade and _geld_ you.

"Bullshit," Isabela snarled, "Don't make excuses for him, kitten. He screwed up and you know it."

I smiled as the others all murmured agreements, and pulled Tigre into a hug. "You guys are the best."

Garrett cracked his knuckles, glaring towards the door, and Varric patted my knee. Even Fenris seemed mildly disturbed, and I held back the tears.

With friends like these, who needs family?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _Long chapter is long; got carried away with this one but couldn't find a good place to break it up, so here! Oh Anders, you ridiculous man, you. _


	32. Ch 32: Healer, Heal Thyself

**Lesson Number Eight:**

**_Healer, Heal Thyself_**

_(On Magic)_

* * *

><p>Anders retreated into himself after that night, throwing himself into his work at the clinic, but I didn't blame him. If I had a cockblocking spirit living inside <em>my<em> head, I'd probably have run too.

Oh, by the way, Aveline _did_ wear a little red dress to the party. I didn't see her there, but Isabela described it for me later. Apparently she kept her shield and sword with her even in the dress, and the crowd left a three foot radius around her on all sides. Oh, Aveline.

I found a nice little home in Lowtown with Varric's help, and Garrett donated some furniture from the estate that he never used so I wouldn't have a bunch of empty rooms. Isabela practically moved in with me, but thankfully kept her dalliances to the room she kept at the Hanged Man. Merrill stopped by almost every day she wasn't working on the Eluvian, and the three of us quickly claimed different spaces of the little house for ourselves.

It was nice sharing with them; made me feel at home and wanted.

Even if Isabela never did learn how to keep her undergarments from ending up hidden throughout the house for me to find when I least expected it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Oh I hope you guys don't hate me for letting Anders get away, but I'm trying to stick to the timeline DA2 follows as far as years and events go. But don't worry, I'm not... err, Liz isn't letting him go that easy._


	33. Chapter 33

**First Day, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

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><p>I pounded my fist against the door with an exasperated sigh. "Bela! Are you <em>quite<em> ready yet?"

"Keep your knickers on!" came the muffled yell and I threw my hands up in surrender. The door slammed open and Isabela struck a pose, cocking one hip out as she leaned on her other leg. "How do I look, kitten?"

"Like a deadly sex goddess," I deadpanned, "Now can we _go_? We're going to be late!"

She pouted and then looked me over. "You're wearing _that_ to Hawke's First Day party?"

I blinked and looked down at myself. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I asked, indignant.

"Well for starters, I can't see your breasts. So that's strike one. You're dressed up tighter than the Grand Cleric's panties."

"Can we just _go_, please?" I begged her. I was not looking forward to this.

_He_ was going to be there, and we'd just spend the whole night dancing around each other and trying to stay on opposite sides of the room and inevitably failing. I'd end up near him somehow and we'd have some kind of awkward conversation where we both tried to pretend that night at the ball had never happened, and I'd end up going home alone and frustrated and Isabela would spend the rest of the night telling me, in great detail, exactly what I should do to get his attention.

Isabela took pity on me and stuffed some daggers into the bodice of her corset and I wondered, again, where she hides them all.

The walk to Garrett's estate was a quiet one. Well, quiet on my side and incredibly boisterous on Isabela's. The woman never seemed to run out of energy; it made me jealous sometimes.

Tigre greeted me at the door and almost knocked me over with his enthusiasm, and I laughed and wrestled with him a little before Isabela pulled me inside, mabari at my heels. Garrett never seemed to give Tigre the time of day, so it wasn't surprising the poor dear loved it when I visited.

_I_ would love a mabari. In fact, I think I might squeal in pleasure if I were to have a mabari of my very own. Something huggable and fluffy and loyal.

Something that wouldn't almost kiss you and then bolt for the door and proceed to ignore you for the next eight months. Something that wasn't leaning against a wall looking miserable and handsome and _oh God I want to hug that man so bad it hurts inside._

No. I was not going to spend _another_ day dancing around him like I was walking on eggshells. I am an adult, and damn it I am going to act like one. I fixed my shirt and took a breath and walked straight towards him, aware that all eyes were tracking my progress as Tigre and I approached the miserable apostate trying to look invisible.

He looked up at my approach and I could tell he was startled that I was approaching him, but I was _through_ pretending nothing had happened.

"Anders."

"Liz."

My lip twitched into a smile at his curt response and I struggled not to laugh. "I'm going to hug you now, and you are going to like it."

He blinked, surprised, and then I pulled him into a tight hug and he went rigid. It was our clinic hug all over again, but he was still so _huggable_ and he smelled like magic. I released him quicker than I wanted, but I had a warm smile ready for him.

"Oh _Lord_ I've wanted to do that for _months_," I admitted, laughing, and he blinked, still shocked. I put a hand on Tigre's shoulder and waved to Anders as we walked back to join the others, perfectly aware of his eyes on my back.

Ignore _that_, Mr. Apostate Healer Man.

Isabela broke into a wide grin when I arrived at her side and she cackled. "I'm so proud of you, kitten! You show that man what he's been missing."

I smirked back. "That's the plan, Bela."

Garrett glanced over my shoulder and he narrowed his eyes, but he was smiling a little. He'd never really forgiven Anders for walking out on me like that. "Maker, I pray you never use your powers for evil."

I glanced covertly back at him and found Anders arguing with himself in his corner, looking bothered and I grinned. Eat _that_ Justice.


	34. Chapter 34

**Wintermarch, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I met my first Qunari while following Garrett around on one of his little adventures. It was <em>big<em> and _grey_ and covered in red war paint and Isabela fled from the mere sight of it.

Luckily Garrett didn't make me go into the compound with him—he only ever took Fenris for reasons unknown to me—but it was still alarming. Apparently they were getting restless without their ship home, and the Chantry was only making things worse.

Sister Petrice. Ugh. What a piece of work _she_ was.

But anyway. That isn't what I wanted to talk about this time. Garrett said he was going to teach me some more magic, and I am _excited_!

After Bethany was taken to the Circle, my lessons had stopped, and now Garrett was going to teach me what he knew so I could come with him on more of his little adventures. Not that I really _wanted_ to go traipsing around the Wounded Coast hunting blood mages and bandits and whatever else the man does in his free time, but I still wanted to be a better mage.

Garrett specialized in fire and entropy spells, neither of which I was particularly good at, but a little variety is good for everyone. I could only really control lightning and the occasional Force spell, and it was getting irritating watching myself fail to conjure fire.

It's not that difficult, Liz. Just conjure the damn flame.

Garrett sighed as yet another fireball fizzled out of existence before it even formed. "Just think _heat_, Liz. Imagine drawing the mana from the Fade and imagine _fire_."

Bethany was a better teacher than Garrett. Garrett's idea of teaching is 'I don't know, just cast it!' and it really isn't getting me anywhere.

"I can't just _imagine fire_, Garrett," I groaned, "I'm not a damn miracle worker." I glared at my hand and my stupid inability to summon a simple flame. I could call lightning to my fingertips with a flick of thought, but an open flame? I'd have better luck teaching Tigre to speak Antivan.

"Pretend that you're dreaming."

I jumped at the unexpected voice and Garrett frowned over my shoulder. I knew without having to turn who it was, and frankly I was extremely surprised—pleasantly so—that he was voluntarily speaking with me.

I glanced back and saw Anders leaning against a tree nearby, watching us for who knows how long. "What do you mean?" I was impressed how calm I sounded, when inside all I wanted was to throw myself at him like some kind of emotional basket-case.

He approached warily, as if I would attack him if he got too close, and Garrett may have actually growled a little. Oh Garrett…

Anders ignored him and stopped a few feet away, holding out his hand and I watched as a spark of lightning danced between his fingers. _That_ I could do, and I mimicked him. "Lightning is just fire in energy form," he explained, "If you touched it, it would burn you just as easily as fire would. _Knowing_ you can do something is half the battle. In the Fade, casting spells is more about knowing that you _can_ rather than any actual ability at having done so before. You can already call _heat_ and _energy_; you just have to put them together differently."

I blinked, and looked back at his hand as the sparks at his fingers jumped together into a flame. I focused on my own hand and furrowed my brow. What he said made sense. Magic isn't something that can be explained logically, but him putting words to it was helping. If I can call down a bolt of _lightning_, who's to say I can't turn that lightning into _fire?_

I'm not sure who was more surprised when the magic in my hand suddenly combusted into a fireball, but it startled me enough to yelp and jump back, dropping it. The fire sputtered out once it left my hand, but _I had done it_. Garrett clapped me on the back and congratulated me, but I was still looking at Anders and the tentative smile on his face.

"If you believe you can do something, then you can," he murmured.

"What if I can't, though? What if I try to do something, but it doesn't work?"

I wasn't talking about magic anymore.

"Then you keep trying until it does."

From the sound of it, neither was he.

I smiled at him and put my hands behind my back to stop from reaching out to him. "I've never stopped."

He blinked, and then his eyes looked so _sad_ but hopeful at the same time that it made me just want to hug him forever and never let go. I think we all know how well _that_ would turn out.

"Maybe you should."

"Well I won't."

We stared at each other for a moment before Garrett cleared his throat and reminded us that we weren't exactly _alone_. I reached for him and then hesitated, letting my hand fall back to my side.

"I'll never stop trying, you know," I smiled, trying to make him _understand_.

He didn't smile back, but I could still see the hope in his eyes when he said "I know."


	35. Ch 35: Ode to a Mabari

**Lesson Number Nine:**

**_Ode to a Mabari_**

_(On Imprinting)_

* * *

><p>So Anders was being an emotional nutcase, and Justice was being a territorial idiot, but I think we're making progress. He stopped avoiding me, at any rate, and I managed to get a few hugs out of him when he wasn't paying attention, which was <em>nice<em>.

Garrett didn't have much time to spend with the rest of us; he was too busy running around solving the city's problems and trying to keep a lid on the growing Qunari tension.

I think I was the oldest virgin in Kirkwall besides the Grand Cleric. And who knows, she might have been a wild woman in her youth. It was getting to the point of ridiculousness, but I am a very patient woman, and if Anders was going to flee every time I make a move towards him, then I'm willing to wait for him to work out his little parasite problem and stuff Justice in a closet somewhere.

It wasn't helping that everyone in our little group seemed to have spontaneously decided that they all hate Anders, and harp on him at every conceivable opportunity.

I wasn't going to stand for that. Nope. I almost decked Fenris once, but I like my heart where it is too much to actually do it. I settled for a withering glare that made him shut up, but I was going to have to have a chat with him.

He might not know it yet, but Anders is _mine_, and I will _not_ have people hating on my man.


	36. Chapter 36

**Guardian, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>"Why do I let you talk me into these things?"<p>

"Because you love me, kitten. Now shut up and put on the damn blindfold."

I grumbled but obeyed her, tying the strip of cloth into as tight a knot as possible, more than a little apprehensive over what Isabela had cooked up for my Nameday this year. It couldn't possibly be worse than strip-poker, but I was _blindfolded_.

Now, I do not like the dark. I especially do not like being _unable to see_. It makes me jumpy and my first instinct when touched when I can't see is to lash out. Previously in my life, this meant slapping and kicking. Now, it means lightning bolts to the face, which is decidedly more life-threatening.

Isabela is pushing and leading me out the door now, and I have to trust her not to let me run into any walls. Wait. I'm trusting _Isabela_ with my well-being?

What has happened to my sanity?

I know when we reach the Hanged Man by the smell and sound of it—is it sad that I could probably navigate the first floor even with the blindfold on?—and Isabela is suddenly leaving me alone and I am _blindfolded_ and not amused with the turn of events.

I grope for her in my self-imposed darkness. "Bela!" I hiss at nothing, trying to find her.

My fingers find purchase in someone's clothing and I desperately hope it's someone I _know_ and not a total stranger. I try to find some clue as to who I just grabbed onto, but fingers grab my wrist before I can and I freeze. I _know_ those fingers.

I'd know him even if he didn't just open his mouth and say my name, even though I didn't hear him. I know it from that buzz beneath my skin, that subtle spike in my pulse just from being near him.

Anders. Of all the patrons in the tavern, I have to start groping _Anders_.

"You're not Isabela," I blurt out intelligently, completely and utterly aware that he is still holding my wrist.

"Not last I checked, no," comes his amused answer. He's pulling on my wrist now so I follow him like a lost lamb, trusting him _implicitly_ more than I trusted Isabela. And for good reason! She _abandoned _me while I was _blindfolded_.

"I'm really glad you're the person I grabbed onto," I admit as he's guiding me in the general direction of the stairs. I feel him tense and grip my hand tighter, but he doesn't say anything. "I mean, as opposed to some random stranger. Or Bela's chest."

He's still quiet, and I have a moment of clarity as I wonder _where_ exactly I'd grabbed him for him to stop me so quickly. Before I have a chance to blush or think too hard on it, we're at the stairs and he's helping me up them so I don't trip on my face.

I cling to his arm like a lifeline and I really don't care if I'm making this awkward for him because I _am blind_ and I _don't like it._ My knee bumps into a chair and I hear giggling that sounds suspiciously like Isabela—who was supposed to be helping me—and Merrill, and Anders is pulling my hands off his arm and keeping them outstretched in front of me.

Something heavy and fluffy and _wiggling_ is put in my arms and I barely hear the cries of "Happy Nameday!" because the thing in my arms is _barking _and tears are streaming down my face from behind the blindfold.

I have a mabari.


	37. Chapter 37

**Guardian, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Someone pulled the blindfold off my head and I clutch the joyful mabari puppy to my chest, overwhelmed. Now, you might be thinking 'why is she getting so worked up over a <em>dog<em>?'

Well, I've already mentioned how much I'd love to have a mabari, and Lord only knows how the others found out about it, but I am _ecstatic_.

It's a girl, I'm pleased to discover—boy dogs always freaked me out, with the… parts… and whatnot… I never know how to hold them properly—and she's just as happy to see me as I am to see her, if the barking and licking my face is any indication. I've only ever seen one mabari (Tigre), but he's a tannish brown color, while the darling in my arms is black with little white feet. Not normal mabari coloring, to be sure, but I am just _in love_ with her.

"She's a mongrel," Garrett pipes up after watching me study the darling little white socks for a moment. "That's why she's black."

"She's _precious!_" I insist, and I nuzzle her short black fur with my nose while she wriggles and tries to give me kisses. "How did you know I wanted a mabari?"

Varric's lips stretch into a sly grin and Anders shifts uncomfortably. "Blondie noticed how taken you were with Hawke's mutt, and brought it up while we were brainstorming."

I blink and look over at Anders, who's smiling a little but studiously _not_ looking at me, and I tear up just thinking about it. He had _noticed_ me. He could only have observed me with Tigre at that ball he seemed to want to pretend never occurred, and it was heartwarming to know he had noticed little things like that in between the dancing and the fleeing.

"Her name is Dawn," I smile as I press a kiss to her forehead, and she barks an affirmative.

Garrett looks puzzled. "Dawn? But she's black."

I smirk up at him mischievously. "The night is darkest just before the dawn."

Oh yeah. I just quoted Batman to a group of people from Thedas. Hah.

I stand to my feet, still cradling Dawn in my arms and I beam at my group of strange friends. "Thank you all so much!" I am about _this_ close to bursting into tears, and it's ridiculous, but it's great at the same time.

I glance over at Anders, and he's still smiling his crooked little half-smile at me and Dawn, and I jump up on my tiptoes and peck him on the cheek, grinning. He stares wide-eyed at me while the room erupts in hoots and whistling, and I claim my seat again with Dawn in my lap, catching him raise his hand to his cheek out of the corner of my eye, and I smile.


	38. Chapter 38

**Drakonis, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I hold up a green plant with little white blubs on the ends and wave it in front of Dawn's nose, watching with amusement as her little chocolate eyes stare intently at the herb clutched in my fingers.<p>

"This," I wiggle the plant and bop her on the nose with it, making her sneeze, "is elfroot. It's ok to eat this; it'll help with an upset tummy and Anders can use it to make health potions."

Dawn obliges me and smells the elfroot in my hands, and I put it back in my satchel, leaning back on my hands.

"All right! Fetch!"

Dawn barks and scurries towards the bag, shuffling through it with all the intensity a puppy can muster, until she emerges with the elfroot clamped in her jaws, and I hug her close and kiss her on the nose.

"Good girl!" I coo in my best baby voice. I hold out a hand and she drops the—slightly damp—elfroot in my fingers and I put it away.

Mabari are surprisingly good herbalists.

I slide on a glove for this next one, and as soon as it's out of the bag Dawn jumps away and her hackles raise. It's rather adorable, if a little intimidating.

"_This_ is deathroot. Do _not_ put this in your mouth."

Dawn looks at me as if I'm an idiot for even having to say that aloud, and I smile.

"If you have to pick any, grab the stem, not the leaves." I toss the bag of plants up onto a high counter and Dawn jumps back into my lap, licking my face. I hear the door opening and Dawn swivels her head towards the sound, ears pricked up, eyes alert.

Not Isabela, then. Dawn is used to her comings and goings, and usually doesn't even so much as snort when she wanders in at odd hours of the day.

"Liz?"

I smile and rub Dawn's ears to get her to relax. I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "This is Anders," I whisper in her ear, and Dawn looks at me and grins. I'd told her _all_ about Anders. "Go say hello."

Dawn barks and bolts towards the door, and I laugh when I hear the alarmed, unmanly _yelp_ as he suddenly has an armful of happy mabari pup. For a little thing, she sure can jump.

When he comes in, still trying to hold Dawn's wriggling self with any modicum of success, I have to clap a hand over my mouth to stifle the smile I don't want him to see.

Things with Anders have been… strange, to say the least. He hasn't been pushing me away since he gave me Dawn, but he hasn't exactly been pinning me to any walls either. As much as I detest having Anders put me in his own personal friend-zone, it's better than having him avoid me like the plague.

He sets Dawn on the ground and brushes his coat off, as if a few black mabari hairs are really going to make his robe any worse, and then eyes the satchel of herbs I'd chucked onto a counter.

"I was wondering where my bag went," he commented wryly, narrowing one eye down at me as I smile innocently up at him.

I _may_ have borrowed his herb bag without asking. Maybe.

"I was teaching Dawn about all the different kinds of plants," I explain, and watch with amusement as he blinks through that information. "And I needed some plants to teach her with. They're all there. Oh, but the elfroot might be a little… soggy."

Anders grimaced. "Do I even want to know?" He shook his head. "You haven't been at the Hanged Man lately," he frowned, "I—we were worried."

"I told Bela to let you guys know I was spending some time with Dawn. Should have known better than to trust her with something so vital." I rolled my eyes. "Sorry if I worried you guys."

He shrugged, as if it didn't matter, and looked around appreciatively. Belatedly, I remember he has never been inside my house before, and I jump to my feet.

"I am an awful host. Would you like a tour?" I affect my best haughty accent and raise my nose in the air, and he rewards my efforts with a smirk.

I lead him through the house, _Here's the kitchen, but the only one who uses it is Merrill—she's a good cook_ / _Oh, this is Isabela's room; I wouldn't go in there if I were you / This is my room, don't sit in that chair by the door, that's Dawn's favorite chair._

We pause in my room as I dash around trying to tidy up, which is pointless since he's standing in the doorway, but something about bringing him into _my room_ is infinitely more important than showing him anything else.

I find one of Isabela's bras behind a chair and I fling it at the wall with a loud _Eww!_ because it was _wet_ and I don't want to know _why_. "That woman…" I mutter.

I turn back to the door and find Anders across the room, studying the sketches I'd pinned to the far wall, and I blush. There's nothing _incriminating_ hanging there—I keep all my fangirl sketches of Anders hidden under my pillow like a creeper—but still. Most of them are new doodles of Dawn doing various things, or at least a shape that vaguely resembles Dawn on a good day, but it's the ones up in the corner that drew his interest.

I don't blame him. That's where I hang my drawings of things I can remember from back home. Wow, it seems like forever since I woke up in Ostagar. I figured I'd better get some of the things down on paper before I forget what they _are_. There's a cell phone, a few cars, a lamp, a light bulb, an architectural layout of my apartment as I remember it, a few sketches of my cats (he smiles at those), a fridge, and a few other various items that I wanted to keep for posterity.

"What are _these_?" he asks in a strange tone of voice, pointing at the cars. I'm not the best vehicular artist, but they're close enough. Just don't ask me to draw the engines or anything.

I clear my throat. "They're called cars. People use them for transportation back where I come from, instead of horses or wagons. They're machines."

He glances over at me, and I can't read his expression at all. "Sometimes I forget you're not really from here."

I shrug back at him. "Sometimes I forget that, too." It's rather alarming how much I can't remember about my time back home.

I can remember waking up to the jarring sound of an alarm clock. I can remember the cats clamoring for food at _all hours of the day_, even if there's already food in their bowls. I can remember the feel of the keyboard under my fingers as I work. I can even remember the feel of carpet under my toes.

But I can't remember what my mother's voice sounds like. I can't remember most of my time at school. I can't remember the smell of the city—rain and smog and various cafés. I can't remember the faces of anyone I grew up with except a few fragments; a nose here, a glimpse of hair…

Four years in Thedas and it's all but erased eighteen in America.

He must have read something in my face because he smiles and steps away from the doodles of a past I've all but forgotten, and surprises me by putting an arm around my shoulders as he guides me to the door.

"Come on, let's go watch everyone get drunk and lose at cards again."

I smile up at him, resisting the urge to lean into him in case he isn't aware that he's _touching_ me. "I'd like that." I whistle for Dawn and she scampers to my side, trotting along happily in our wake.


	39. Chapter 39

**Cloudreach, 9:34 Dragon **

**The Wounded Coast**

* * *

><p>"Have I told you how much I hate you right now, Garrett?"<p>

"Hmm? Oh I'm sorry. I don't speak _brood_."

I scowl at him and hunch my shoulders, grumbling under my breath about _sodding outdoors_ and _damn snarky mages_. He ignored my warning and dragged me along for an 'adventure' on the coast, and I am not pleased. At least Dawn is with me, and she could use the exposure to the outside.

She's getting big _really_ fast, and she's almost up to Tigre's shoulder. I was surprised Garrett was bringing the old boy, but it would be good for Dawn to interact with another mabari. Too bad she was more interested in identifying all the various gatherable herbs on the coast and bringing them to me or Anders with a goofy grin.

"Your dog is saving me hours of searching, Liz," Anders mused as Dawn deposited some slightly wet embrium in his hands.

"What can I say? I trained her too well." I wink at Dawn, who winks back before bounding off again.

For reasons unknown to me, Garrett always thinks bringing along Anders and Fenris on the same outings is a Good Idea. If he's trying to force them to get along through mutual co-existence, he's going to be sorely disappointed. I've spent the majority of our trip standing in between them like a living wall, trying to redirect conversations when it turns to mage rights or anything concerning magic at all.

Dawn's muffled barking sounds her arrival but I gape at what she's dragging back to us.

"Are those…" Anders trails off, trying to hide a smirk with his hand.

"I believe your mabari has relieved someone of their trousers," Fenris' dry voice muses, and I kneel to tug the torn garment from her mouth as I boggle at them.

Dawn brought me trousers? …who did these _belong_ to? Is there some half naked person wandering around the coast, now?

"Er, thank you Dawn. You can never have too many pairs of… trousers," I blink. Dawn barks, pleased with her gift, and falls back into step beside me. I look at Anders helplessly, not entirely sure what to do with these soggy trousers, and he just smirks back at me and whistles innocently as he trots to catch up with Garrett.

"You should give them to Isabela," Fenris interjects my musing, and I jump a little. "She does not seem to possess any pants of her own."

I burst into laughter and stuff the trousers in my bag. "I think I'll do that. Thanks Fenris."

He almost smiles, but catches himself before coughing and hurrying forward. I exchange an amused glance with Dawn as we run to keep up.


	40. Ch 40: Behind Closed Doors

**Lesson Number Ten:**

**_Behind Closed Doors_**

_(On Romance)_

* * *

><p>I have decided that the secret to life is patience.<p>

It's amazing how long it's taken me to figure this out, but it's true. There isn't much you can accomplish if you're jumping up and down and checking the time every three seconds, and I've found having an abundance of patience is necessary for survival.

Stare at a merchant long enough? He'll lower the price on those shoes you want, if only to get you to leave.

Keep eye contact with that Qunari standing outside the compound? Oh yeah, he'll blink first.

Sit in a chair in the Hanged Man while Fenris and Anders attempt to verbally disembowel each other? They'll stop. Eventually.

I have decided to put my newfound patience to the test. I've waited four years for Anders to open his eyes and push his little imaginary friend into the background. What's a few more months?


	41. Chapter 41

**Summerday, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Dawn really likes to fetch things. A <em>lot<em>. If I'm not throwing something for her to chase after, she's gnawing on my foot or giving me these soul-melting puppy eyes and I'm absolutely helpless to do anything but what she requests.

Sometimes I think she's too smart for her own good.

Today, she fetched me an Anders. I had been suspicious when she hadn't come home after I'd let her out to go for a jog, and when she wandered back with Anders' staff clutched in her jaws I am absolutely amazed that no Templars stopped her to find out where that mage weapon had come from.

I'm holding it, staring at the heartwood staff, wondering _Whose staff is this? Am I about to get an angry mage knocking on my door?_ and Dawn looks entirely too pleased with herself.

When I hear the gentle but insistent knocking, I shoot Dawn a withering look that she ignores and I pull open the door.

Anders looks like he'd sprinted here from the clinic, which he might have, and he's leaning one hand against the doorframe while he catches his breath. He's very fit for a mage, but there are few people who can keep up with a running mabari for any length of time.

When he looks up, eyes irritated but amused, I hand him the staff with a sheepish smile. "I take it this is yours?"

He stares at the staff as if inspecting it for bite marks, before relaxing. Now, I've never used a staff, but apparently mages do _not_ like other people touching their staves.

Isabela would have a field day with that.

He straightens and then startles, as if until this moment he hadn't been aware it was _my_ house Dawn had led him to (who else would she bring her 'stick' back to?) and he blinks. "Right. Any idea why your dog kidnapped my staff?"

Actually, I do, and I cringe. Which he notices, damn him, and one eyebrow rises as I fidget. I had been fed up with Dawn bugging me, so I'd waved towards the door and just said "Fetch!" and she was off. I had no idea she would pick something so incriminating.

"A happy accident?" I tried with a shy smile. He is clearly not convinced, and the brow does not lower. I deflate and drop my eyes to my hands, which are fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. "Sorry."

What is it about this man that reduces me to a stammering idiot?

"It's all right. My patients surely got a kick out of watching me sprinting after your mabari like a madman."

I try to hide my laugh with a cough, but he clearly isn't buying it. He eventually smiles back and I am _relieved_ that Dawn hadn't just burned the tentative bridge I'd been crawling across these past couple of months.

I want to invite him in. I want to show him what I've been teaching Dawn, or feed him, or chain him to a chair and never let him go, but he'd just raced here from his clinic and I'm not selfish enough to take him away from people who need him.

I will be patient. Even if it sucks.

"I don't want to keep you from your patients," I insist with a smile, and I secretly cheer when he pauses, looking disappointed, before he shakes himself out of it and nods.

"Just keep Dawn away from my staff and we shouldn't have a problem," he smirks, and I clutch my hands behind my back before I try and hug him again.

He'd probably allow it—he's been pretty open to such things lately—but I don't want to scare him off.

"I make no promises," I grin back, and he smiles as he turns to go, waving over his shoulder.

I don't like seeing him walk away.

Hopefully the day will come when I won't have to.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Sorry about the delay; I couldn't get the Doc Manager to work today, but as soon as I could get it up and running I started throwing chapters at it with my war-face on!_


	42. Chapter 42

**Bloomingtide, 9:34 Dragon **

**The Wounded Coast**

* * *

><p>You know what's annoying?<p>

Forgetting how to walk properly. Yeah, that's right, you heard me. I have tripped over my own feet six times in the past hour.

Why?

Because Anders has been _touching _me. Now, I'm not sure if he's been doing it on _purpose_, per se… but he's 'stumbled' twice—he had to catch himself on my shoulder before he fell—'needed a break' where I, of course, helped him back to his feet when we were ready to move…

Oh, and my personal favorite, the 'you're walking too close to the ledge, Liz, let me take your arm and guide you to safety.' He's done that one three times.

I am not complaining. Every time he touches me it's like being wrapped in a fluffy blanket that just so happens to make my blood hum and my feet stop working. But he _won't let me touch him back_.

I'm not as adept at this as he is, obviously, so I do not possess the suave necessary to 'trip' into him or something of the sort. If I can just get the man to let me hold his sodding hand, I will never bother him again.

I stare at his fingers where they're currently resting on my elbow—_that was a close one; watch your step around those turns, Liz_—and I debate with myself whether or not to bring this insanity to anyone else's attention. Normally I could confide in Dawn, but today my darling mabari is with Aveline and Tigre, training at the barracks. I figured it would be a good idea to let her have some actual combat practice before bringing her along on one of our more adventurous outings.

"Anders," I begin, uncertain why I'd even opened my mouth, but regret it immediately, since his fingers leave my arm and he looks at me expectantly. Damn him and his _obliviousness. _"Maybe we should trade places, since I seem to keep almost falling into the Waking Sea."

He looks remarkably calm at this decision, and I begin to wonder if I'm just imaging the whole thing, until Varric snorts up ahead of us and I catch the slightest smirk at Anders' lips before it's gone.

_Aha!_

I shuffle around him, stumbling—totally on accident, stupid feet—and catch myself on him. I caught myself by surprise just as much as he, apparently, since he just _barely_ stops us from falling to the ground, and I forget how to _breathe_ when I feel his hands gripping my arms.

My mind is a complete blank. I know nothing, feel nothing, see nothing except for him, and I'm absolutely positive he knows it.

My fingers are gripping his coat with almost religious fervor and I'm beginning to feel lightheaded.

See what the man does to me? I feel like I'm drifting off.

Oh. That's because I stopped breathing earlier.

The last thing I remember thinking before my vision goes black and I collapse is: _Damn feet._


	43. Chapter 43

**Bloomingtide, 9:34 Dragon **

**The Wounded Coast**

* * *

><p>When I come to, I find Garrett hovering over me and as soon as my eyes focus on him he's shouting something off to the side but I can't hear him and <em>why is everything so dark?<em>

I blink and slowly push myself to a seating position and realize we're in a cave. Why are we in a cave? I glance to the side and spot some Deep Mushrooms and make a mental note to collect them before I go.

Good thing my priorities are nice and straight.

I see a flash of blue and suddenly sound and light returns and I squint and can't help the goofy smile that spreads over my face when I see Anders crouching next to Garrett.

He's so pretty. That light is so pretty! I wish I could make pretty lights like that.

"She's delirious," Anders tries to sound serious, but I can hear the laughter in his voice and I pout, because obviously someone told a really funny joke and I missed it.

I wonder where Varric is. I bet he'd like to hear the funny joke! He's so huggable and the _chest hair_. I'm not big on chest hair, but I can see the appeal.

"What is she _talking_ about?" Garrett is blabbing, looking concerned, and I try and focus on him.

I feel fingers on my face and I turn towards them and stare at Anders, blinking slowly.

"You hit your head, Liz," Anders is saying in a calm, collected tone of voice. "You'll be fine; just try not to move."

Why would I want to move? I've got the handsomest apostate in the _world_ with his hand on my face and uh oh, he's smirking again. Am I talking out loud? That's not good.

"Handsome, huh?" he muses as the pretty light comes back and some of the blurring at the edges of the world are going away.

I frown, a hand raising to press at my head and coincidentally trapping Anders' hand there as well. I am immediately lucid and my attention snaps to him as I feel him go that special sort of still.

"I… am very dizzy," I finally ground out, saying each word with care. That strange tension dissolves and I let Anders pull his hand back, barely resisting the urge to squeeze it. "Did I really comment on Varric's chest hair?"

Garrett looks _entirely_ too amused with the situation, and I contemplate hitting him with lightning. "Oh yes. I shall remember this conversation fondly for many years to come."

"What happened?" I frown, trying to remember.

"You fainted," Garrett chimes in, all too happy to relate my little incident in a chipper tone of voice. "And hit your head."

"I… dropped you," Anders admitted sheepishly. "You just went boneless and I… panicked."

I stare at him incredulously. A woman passes out in his arms and his first gut reaction is to _drop_ her? But he looks so repentant and guiltily adorable that I suppose I can forgive him. This time.

They're obviously waiting for me to tell them why I blacked out. There is no way in _hell_ I am telling Anders that him holding me like that made me literally forget how to breathe.

"I'm fine," I say instead, smiling brightly and crawling to my feet, not surprised at all when Anders helps me to my feet.

Again with the _touching_. When I pass out again, he better damn well not drop me.


	44. Chapter 44

**Bloomingtide, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Anders has been visiting me every day for the past week. To "check" on my head injury, which is practically nonexistent at this point, but I am not going to be the one to tell him that.<p>

He always starts out his visits with his 'healer face' and makes me sit down while he makes sure there's no lingering pain or dizziness or headaches, then he relaxes and lets me fail at cooking something edible and we end up eating fruit or something as he talks about how the clinic is going and I show him what I've been teaching Dawn, and eventually we'll start drifting into dangerous topics like me mentioning how Dawn and I are alone practically every night now that Isabela is so distracted with Garrett and Anders will get flustered and excuse himself as he flees from the house.

This is why when Anders shows up and goes through the normal healer routine I am not surprised. What surprises me is when the first words out of his mouth when he sits down are: "I need your help with something."

He never asks for my help. He always goes to Garrett or Varric, never wanting to 'endanger me' or include me in whatever it was he _did_ for the Mage Underground—yeah, I know about that; thank you Varric. He must have seen the surprise on my face because he continues as if I had asked him to clarify.

"Have you been to the Gallows recently?"

I give him my best _No, Anders, in case you have forgotten, I am a mage and therefore do not spend all my spare time frolicking around the Gallows_ expression, and he smiles a little before turning serious again.

"Every time I go, there are more and more Tranquil selling their bloody wares; good mages who've undergone their Harrowings. And don't say it's just me being paranoid, because it's not."

I wasn't going to say that. I was actually going to say "Why are you telling _me_ about this?" and apparently I said that out loud because he answered it.

"I… can't trust Hawke with this." Well that was news. Anders trusted Garrett with _everything_. "I don't want him getting involved. He's under enough Templar scrutiny as it is without me drawing attention to him."

I don't even bother wondering why he's willing to involve me.

"The others wouldn't understand the threat involved here. I've heard whispers, rumors of a 'Tranquil Solution' in place by Ser Alrik—nasty piece of work, likes making mages beg—as a plan to systematically turn all mages Tranquil. I can't risk bringing non-mages into this; the fewer who know about this the better. Until I have _proof_, I can't risk anyone exposing it and letting the Templars scurry into the shadows like rats." He looks so _desperate_, as if I am his last possible hope, and it's equally terrifying and thrilling to know I am the _only_ person he can come to with this.

"Okay." I blink as he sits back, and I stir as I realize he might not understand what I meant by that. "Tell me what I need to do."

He visibly slumps with relief and the gratitude in his eyes is overwhelming. "Meet me at the clinic tonight. I've heard of a place in the sewers where the Templars meet. We'll look around, get some evidence, and get out."

Something is nagging at the back of my mind. Something _important_ about this. Something from what I've come to know as my time Before. But before I have time to do more than get a vague feeling of _This is a Bad Idea_, Anders is out of the chair and pulling me into the first hug he's ever initiated and I _melt_.

I dig my fingers into the back of his robe and clutch him tight, happier in this moment than I've been in _years_, and he pulls back with obvious reluctance but a smile on his face. He thanks me at least four more times before he finally heads out the door, and I close it numbly behind him.

That feeling is back.

Dread. Anxiety. _Wrong_ness.

Somehow, I get the impression that whatever happens tonight is going to be a lot bigger than Anders thinks it is.


	45. Chapter 45

**Bloomingtide, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>It was far too quiet in Darktown for my liking. Normally there are at least a dozen beggars with their hands out for alms between my home in Lowtown and Anders' clinic, but as Dawn and I head down the steps I can't help but feel that something is very wrong.<p>

Dawn growls her own discomfort and I rest a hand on her head as I walk. She's still not fully grown, but mabari grow like wildfire and she's already tall enough for me to rest my fingers in her fur as I walk. I had just felt so uneasy after Anders had left that I _had_ to bring Dawn with me, if only for the comfort of her presence.

Aveline says she's a terror in the pen, taking down her soldiers with even more efficiency than Tigre had managed, and I had beamed proudly at the news. I feel much safer with her padding softly at my side, and I'm sure if things go south that the added protection she provides will be worth the effort of getting her to stay silent.

We don't even run into any Coterie thugs, which is a novel experience, and by the time we reach the doors to the clinic I've already half-talked myself out of going. But I can't let Anders do this on his own. He really opened himself up by asking me to come; I'm not about to abandon that just for the sake of the jitters.

Before I can even knock on the door, it's swinging open and Anders is hurrying out to join us, looking skittish and nervous but determined, and I stand aside while he locks up and puts out the lanterns on either side of the door.

Dawn and I follow him wordlessly through Darktown, and I strain to catch a hint of sound, _any_ sound, and come away even more disturbed than before.

If this whole thing doesn't just scream _trap!_ then I don't know what does.

We _do _run into some lyrium smugglers in the sewers, and between our magic and Dawn's newfound battle prowess, we make short work of them.

When we finally reach the meeting place, I can't say I'm all that surprised to find it occupied. At least they're all facing away from us, so it's not _quite_ a trap, but it was too much to hope that it would be nice and empty when we got here.

I am more than a little alarmed that the room is full of at least a dozen Templars—the only one of us who could adequately fight them is Dawn, and she's a _dog_—and Anders sucks in a breath and presses himself flat against the wall in time for a voice as cold as ice to drift over to us from the group.

Ser Alrik. Even if I hadn't deduced his identity on my own, the sudden hardening of Anders' face and the tense of his body is hint enough. I don't hear a word of what is said, eyes fixed on Anders and the obvious battle he's fighting inside his own head to stay in control. A battle he's losing.

I have just enough time to hear a young mage begging not to be made Tranquil before I know it's time to act. If we just sit here like a couple of idiots that girl is going to _die_. It's times like these I wish I had a staff.

I step confidently out with Dawn at my side and Anders at my back—why is he letting me lead?—and try to school my face into something that does not resemble fear.

"The Chantry frowns upon those who take advantage of their charges," I drawl. I am pretty sure that's true. I _hope_ it's true. All eyes turn to me and I stand there resolutely with Dawn bristling beside me, as Alrik raises an unimpressed eyebrow at me.

"And who's this?" the derision in his voice is almost enough to make me snort.

"A concerned citizen," I answer truthfully, nodding towards the sobbing mage girl, and for the first time I notice the odd metal rod in Alrik's hand. I feel the blood drain from my face when I realize what it is, when I see the sun brand on its end, but I force myself to keep my eyes on the ice blue gaze of the madman in front of me.

Anders is muttering to himself behind me but I don't have the time to spare him a concerned glance. If I can keep the attention on _me_, maybe Anders can pull himself together before one of them smites us.

"This is Templar business," Alrik replies smoothly, as if we were discussing the weather, and I wonder how daft he has to be not to know we're both mages. "It doesn't concern you."

"**You fiends will **_**never**_** touch a mage again!**"

I can _feel_ my blood run cold at the otherworldly voice echoing from behind me, and I see the Templars all snap their attention to my companion and their eyes widen. I don't even look, I just jump into the fight before they have a chance to gather their wits, but my efforts aren't needed.

The Templars are torn to pieces before I take more than a step.

I can only stare, wide-eyed and horrified as Justice charges into the group of men, ripping them apart with his bare hands and burning them alive inside their metal suits with magic pouring from clawed fingers. It's not even a fight.

It's a massacre.

Justice stands amidst the carnage, and I have no illusions that the man I'm staring at is Anders any longer. The smoke misting from eyes blue with the Fade, skin cracked with the might of Justice's magic… his entire body is taut as a bowstring, staff held in a white-knuckle grip as he sears his glare into the corpses surrounding him, gritting his teeth as he fights some battle I can't see.

"**They will die!**" Justice barks, whirling to face me, nothing sane or just left in his expression. Only hatred. Vengeance. "**I will have every last Templar for these abuses!**"

"They're already dead, Anders," I am ashamed when my voice breaks, but I'm not afraid of him. I know Anders is still in there, even if it's Vengeance's face he wears. "Calm down."

He doesn't. He whirls back, slashing a hand through the air and snarling as if I'd just personally admitted to eating kittens. "**Every one of them will feel Justice's burn!**"

And then the girl does the worst possible thing imaginable. She talks. "Get away from me, demon!"

I can't help but cover my face with my hands as Justice turns slowly to face her, eyes hard, every plane of his body tense and ready to strike her down for such an error.

"**I am no demon!**" he barks, then lowers his voice into something dark and threatening, "**Are you one of them, that you would call me such?**"

Before I know that I've moved, I'm standing between them, arms outstretched, staring defiantly into the swirling depths of the Fade. "Anders, she's a mage. We came down here to save her from being made Tranquil."

Justice takes a step closer, but I don't give him the satisfaction of flinching away. "**She is theirs!**" he insists, clutching the front of my shirt in a Fade-cracked hand, and it is nothing like when Anders touches me. "**I can feel their hold on her!**"

"The only hold you're feeling is the one you've got on me," I snap, not pulling out of his grip but not stepping aside either. "She's the reason you're fighting, Anders! Don't turn on her now."

Justice narrows his eyes and steps closer, almost lifting me from the ground in the process, and I dimly hear Dawn growling to my right. I hold a hand up to stall her; I do not want her getting hurt.

"**You stand between the wicked and her judgment. Who are you to forestall Justice?**"

"My name is Liz. Perhaps you've heard of me."

If it's even possible, his eyes grow even colder. "**You.**" I have never heard so much hatred instilled into one word. "**You are the distraction.**"

The _what?_

If I didn't have absolute faith that Anders would never hurt me, I would be screaming by now.

"If by 'distraction' you mean the only thing stopping you from murdering this poor mage, then yes. That's me." I really need to stop being snarky with the angry Fade spirit.

I don't even think he heard me. "**You are the one that turns Anders from his duty,**" the accusation makes me scowl at him, "**The only thing holding him back.**" The threat is there, unvoiced. _Oh wouldn't it be easier on my host if this little distraction were to, I don't know, die?_

"Is this Justice talking? Or Vengeance?" I glare, dimly taking note that my feet are not even touching the ground anymore. Damn Anders for being so bloody tall.

"**Your ignorance astounds me, mortal,**" Justice spat back. I think I've royally pissed him off now. Good going, Liz. "**Give me reason not to end your existence before I take it from you.**"

"Because I trust you."

The grip on my shirt slackened, and he took a half step back, blue eyes a little wider.

"Because Anders speaks fondly of you, despite all you've done to the contrary."

My feet touch the ground.

"Because I know you're not a demon, and murder is demonic."

The Fade-cracked fingers release my shirt, and I take a step forward to match his step back.

"Because death is _never_ justice."

I watch as he staggers back, the cracks sealing back into his skin and the otherworldly tint to his eyes fading away, leaving him kneeling in the blood and dust looking terrified and alone.

I want to go to him, pull him into a hug and tell him it'll all be ok. I hear the mage behind me scramble to her feet and run down the tunnels, and Anders looks up at me and I feel tears slip free at the despair etched onto his face.

"Maker, I almost… if you hadn't been here…" his voice breaks and he pushes himself to his feet, backing up wildly, "I… I need to get out of here."

I watch him as he bolts away back down the tunnels and I look around at the carnage surrounding me, smiling faintly when Dawn licks my hand. I take a steadying breath and step gingerly over the corpses, reminded of that night in Ostagar, and stop next to what remains of Ser Alrik. I roll up my sleeves and breathe through my mouth as I search through his bags and armor for the evidence Anders was searching for.

I pull out all the papers I can find and skim them, smiling grimly as I stuff them in my bag. This just gave _blood money_ a whole new definition. I follow Dawn out into the open space of Darktown and take a deep breath, turning and taking sure and steady steps towards the clinic and the man who needs me most.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _I decided to expand on the Dissent quest, because for some reason I can't imagine a Vengeance-induced Justice backing off that quickly without some kind of drastic measure taken._


	46. Chapter 46

**Bloomingtide, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I find Anders crouched over his desk, shuffling through a pile of belongings and for an insane moment I think he's <em>packing<em>. And then I hear his voice, muttering to himself as he tosses things behind him and sets others gently in a pile on his left. I notice a small pillow that he cradles for a moment in his hands before setting it down on top of his 'keep' pile as if it were made of glass, and I walk towards him.

His eyes flick up to meet mine before he quickly looks back at the pile, but his hands are pressed into the wood now and he hunches over, almost as if he's expecting me to hit him.

"It's all gone wrong," he shudders, fingers digging into the wooden desk, and I try not to flinch as he swipes his arm across the surface and sends his 'trash' pile flying. He raises his eyes back to mine and he looks so _broken_ that I'm standing across from him and pressing my hand on top of his before I know I've moved. "Justice and I… we're an abomination, just like any other."

"You're not," I insist, "You lost control, but even then you _knew_ you had to stop. If you were truly an abomination, you wouldn't have been able to."

"I almost murdered an innocent girl!" he shouted back, anger coloring his tone as he slammed his free hand back onto the desk in a tight fist, refusing to meet my eyes, "I almost murdered _you_. Maker, if I had hurt you…"

"But you _didn't_," I put my hands on either side of his face and pull him up so I can see the terror in his eyes, "You _didn't_ hurt me. You're a good man, Anders, and that didn't change just because you reacted poorly."

I didn't mention that if he hadn't reacted, we would most likely all be dead. There had been a _lot_ of Templars in that room.

He pulled away and began to pace, eyes fixed on the floor, and I had to wonder what kind of side-conversation he was having in his head. Was Justice upset? Was he mad that I had stopped him, or relieved? Was he even _Justice_ any longer?

"You have too much faith in me," he finally admits bitterly, shaking his head. "I'm a monster, Liz. If you're around me, you'll be in danger. I… I can't protect you from _myself_."

"I don't want your damn protection!" I snap, fumbling around in my bag until I find Alrik's papers. "I want _Anders_ back. The carefree, handsome, snarky mage I met years ago when I woke up naked on a cot. The man with a ready laugh who _believed_ in something."

"I believe in the cause," he growled, stepping back to the desk, eyes hard. Good, anger is better than depression. Anger I can work with. "But what's the use of _believing_ in something if men like Alrik can take it all away?"

With a calm expression I slide the papers across the desk towards him, smiling. "He couldn't. It seems his 'Tranquil Solution' began and ended with him."

I have never seen a man move that fast. Anders had lunged at the desk and had the papers in his hands before I'd even registered the fact that he was no longer standing still. I watch as he reads what I had read, expression softening into tentative hope, disbelief, _relief_.

"The Divine… rejected the idea," he says in wonderment, eyes wide, "_Meredith_ rejected the idea!" Even I had been surprised at that one. "I… had no idea. Maybe I should try talking to the Grand Cleric. Perhaps she's more reasonable than I thought."

Yes, Anders. This is a good plan. A nice, non-violent, non-Vengeful plan.

I watch him as the madness drains from his eyes and leaves behind a broken man trying to pick up the pieces, and he looks up and catches me watching, and smiles.

That _smile_. I nonchalantly place a hand on the desk to brace myself before my knees give out. What does this man do to me?

"Thank you," he says earnestly, taking my free hand and clasping it between his. I can feel the magic in his fingers and I can't help but sigh at it. If he notices, he doesn't bring attention to it. "I would be lost without you."

I'm lost _with_ you, Mr. Tease. I make myself look at him and smile, resting my other hand on top of his.

"Get some sleep, Anders. Lord knows I could use some."

He nods, not entirely listening to me, as I try and pull my hand back. I meet his eye again and his grip tightens for a moment before releasing me, and he steps back.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," he whispers, and I pause at the sound of my name. He's never used it, and I can't help but think that my name has _never_ sounded like a benediction before.

"Good night, Anders," I smile.

I try to hide the fact that I really don't want to leave.

"Good night, Liz."

He tries to hide how he doesn't want to see me go.

I whistle for Dawn and look back only once as we head out the door. I feel his eyes on me all the way back to Lowtown.


	47. Chapter 47

**Justinian, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I haven't seen Anders in a week, and I'm getting worried. I click my tongue for Dawn and she bounds to my side, more than eager to get out of the house for whatever reason, and together we make our way to the Hanged Man.<p>

Corff finally got over himself and stopped scowling whenever I brought Dawn along; she was better behaved than most of his patrons and _she_ never made a mess on the floor, more than could be said for most of the drunkards that leer at me when I enter.

I knock on the door to Varric's suite and push it open, almost running into Fenris as he stalks out. He spares an irritated glance for me before skirting around us, tripping over Dawn and swearing in Arcanum as he vanishes around the corner. I blink, turning back to Varric and Garrett, who both looked guilty of something incriminating.

"What was that all about?" I ask finally, and Garrett looks up as if he hadn't known I was there. His face brightens immediately.

"Liz! Just the girl I'm looking for!"

"You weren't looking very hard. I've been home for the past week."

He ignores me completely and slings an arm around my shoulder—how did he get beside me so fast?—and pulls me into the room. "Oh he's just got a bee in his trousers because we want to throw a little surprise party for Anders."

A party? For Anders? Count me in, please.

He must have read that in my face because he grinned and nodded to Varric, who interlaced his fingers and leaned across the table with his best _No shit_ expression. "I have it on very good authority that Blondie's Nameday is coming up soon."

But… Anders had told me he didn't even know when his birthday _was_. "Does Anders know?"

"He will when we spring this on him," Garrett grinned. "Cousin Amell pulled some strings and got the First Enchanter to release all the information they had on him. And guess what? Apparently the Circle _does_ keep track of their mages!"

Cousin Amell? Oh. Right, the Hero of Ferelden. It's easy to forget the easygoing mage in front of me is related to some powerful people.

"Well that's great, but what do you need _me_ for?"

Garrett's grin turned sly. "We need to borrow your house."


	48. Chapter 48

**Justinian, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I fidget nervously outside the clinic, going over my carefully-rehearsed speech in my head. It had sounded so obvious and simple when Garrett had explained it the night before. Go to Anders, convince him you need his help, bring him to your house, commence surprise.<p>

Apparently they'd gone to Fenris and asked to use _his_ mansion first, and of course that had gone over about as well as asking the Knight-Commander to wear pink. _Why don't you just use your house, Garrett?_ I had asked. Apparently he was 'renovating' or something, and his mother was throwing a get-together for her friends that day.

And Anders would _never_ think anyone got hurt at the Hanged Man. Could you hear my sarcasm there? Because I've been practicing.

The only problem was my complete inability to function normally when Anders is within ten feet of me. I know for a fact as soon as I open that door and see him, my speech is going to go flying out the window and I'm going to turn into a blubbering, emotional mess. Not to mention we haven't spoken since I'd handed him Alrik's papers, and I'm positive he'll want to talk about that as soon as he sees me.

I had considered bringing Dawn, but she was the ace up my sleeve. The one thing I could probably muster enough emotion over to keep hold of my brain is my mabari, and I'd apologize to her later for not letting her come.

I take a few steadying breaths and dredge up the vivid memories of awakening in Ostagar; the panic, the fear, the revulsion, the urge to _run_, and burst into the clinic like a thunderclap.

The clinic is nearly empty, but I purposefully do not look around as I bolt towards Anders where he's scribbling at his desk as if my life depends on reaching him. He looks up and the smile dies on his face when he sees my pale expression. I am holding onto those bloodied, bloated corpses in the forefront of my mind and so far it's working out _fabulously_.

"It's D-Dawn," I stutter, heaving in a breath and feeling lightheaded, "S-she… I need you."

He's snatching his staff from where it rested against the wall before I even finished speaking, and I gasp for breath as I turn and run back out the door with him following, peppering me with questions that I only half-hear. Instead, I begin describing the carnage going on behind my eyes.

"There's so much blood," I whisper in a hoarse voice, eyes blank as I struggle to keep the gruesome memory close at hand, "Please, I… I don't want to look at it anymore."

He stops asking me questions after that, and I feel only slightly guilty when we reach the house and slam the door open. The expression on his face when everyone—except Fenris—jumps out and screams "_Surprise!_" I shall treasure forever.

And then Dawn comes bursting in, barking and showing how obviously unharmed she is and Anders is staring at me as if he can't really believe I'd just managed to lie convincingly (remember when I told you how when I lie nonsense words come out?) and I'm smiling shyly up at him.

"What—" he tries, but Garrett is there and clapping him on the back.

"Happy Nameday, Blondie!"

Anders' staff clatters to the floor and he stares at Garrett as if he's grown a second head. "It's…?"

"Solona got the First Enchanter to spill the beans," Garrett goes on, completely ignoring the wide-eyed stare on Anders' face. "15 Justinian. Of course we had to throw a party…"

Anders is looking at me now with a strange expression on his face and I stare back. "I have a Nameday," he whispers, looking amazed and more than a little emotionally raw.

I take his hand and squeeze it, smiling. "You've always had one. It's just been missing."

Then he smirks wryly. "So Dawn isn't _really_ choking on her own blood?"

All eyes turn to me in surprise and I shift nervously. "No?" At Garrett's incredulous stare I snap back, "What? You told me to bring him here, and that's what I did!"

Varric laughs. "You managed to _lie_? This I have to hear."

I shake my head. Lord save me from nosy dwarves.

* * *

><p>My house is really not big enough for eight people. Especially considering there has to always be a buffer zone around Fenris while he sulks in a corner and Aveline and Isabela can't be in the same room together for safety's sake.<p>

If it had been up to me, Fenris wouldn't be here at all. It if were up to him, he wouldn't be here either. But Garrett can be _very_ persuasive, and I pity the elf for the talking-to he must have gotten after storming out of the Hanged Man.

Isabela appears next to me from out of thin air with a wine glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. "Liz, you have _got_ to try this. Fen-Fen brought it from his mansion."

The Aggregio? Fenris brought the _Aggregio_ to Anders' party? Will wonders never cease?

I really shouldn't drink this. But it's already in my hand and Isabela's watching me with this suspicious gleam in her eyes that I really should be nervous about, but hell I'm legal now and everyone else is drinking it.

I've never had wine before. It tastes like berries and I think _this isn't so bad_. It's just like juice. Really… really strong juice.

Oh my. I need some more of _that_ thank you very much. Yes please.

* * *

><p>Nothing makes sense anymore. Merrill is up on top of the cabinets and I don't know how to get her down, Garrett is passed out on the floor and Isabela is sitting on him like a chair, Fenris is actually <em>smiling<em> at something Varric is saying, Aveline hasn't looked at anyone disapprovingly in the past hour, and I can't stop staring at Anders.

Well that's nothing new but it has _never_ been this difficult to look away from him. I finger my empty glass—I think I had too much to drink but sod it I'm _happy_—and walk unsteadily towards him. Why is it so bright in here? Is it bright? Lord but he is a handsome man.

He takes one look at me and grins. "Had a bit too much to drink there, Liz?"

I blink at him. "What? No. I've only had…" I frown as I count backwards from ten and lose track. "…some. It's good. You should try it!" This is the greatest idea in the world.

He looks _amused_. Did someone tell a joke? "I can't get drunk anymore, Liz."

"So?" He's really not getting my point. "It's still good!" It's not that complicated, Anders. "Have I ever told you how handsome you are?" Did I say that out loud?

Yes, apparently I did, because he looks surprised. And then he's _blushing_ and everything is fine because that is the proper response to my statement. "Never when you're lucid," he laments.

Oh that's right. I said it when he _dropped_ me, too. "I'm lucid now," I point out, and it's mostly true. I don't think I'm _too_ drunk yet. "Mostly."

He shakes his head. "Liz…"

"Don't," I interrupt him, actually pressing a finger to his lips to stop him. I don't want to hear about how he's dangerous, how he'll hurt me. This is a party and he is damn well going to enjoy it. "I haven't given you your present yet."

"You got me a present?" There's that crooked half-smile that makes me lose conscious thought.

I got him a present?

"Yes," I put on my most serious expression and take hold of his sleeve and pull him along. "It's this way."

I got him a present… right? Where am I taking him?

Oh, this is my room. Where did I put his present?

What present?

I turn and wait for him to clear the door before I take his hand to get his attention, and he looks down at me with that smile that makes me want to float away. I tug on his sleeve.

"I need to tell you something."

"Tell me what?" he asks, furrowing his brow, and I tug on his sleeve again.

"It's a secret. You're too tall; come here."

He smirks, amused, and obliges me, bending down. I stand on tiptoes to reach him and brace my hands on his shoulders, leaning to whisper in his ear.

"I lied."

He pulls back a little, confused, and when he opens his mouth to speak I close the distance between us and press my lips to his. He goes rigid at first, surprised, and then I can feel his hands on my waist pulling me closer and he is _devouring_ me. I barely register when my back hits the wall or when my arms found their way around his neck; the only thing I am capable of focusing on is that I need him closer. _Now_.

I have never been kissed, but I'm pretty sure there is nothing in the entirety of _existence_ that equals the feeling of being _complete_ that comes with this.

Nothing exists in this moment except for _him_, my Anders, and the building tension under my skin threatening to snap if I don't _breathe_. I break the kiss with a gasp and find myself pinned between him and the wall, and I don't want to be anywhere else.

"Happy Nameday," I manage to whisper before he silences me by slanting his mouth over mine and the world falls away.


	49. Chapter 49

**Justinian, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I wake to the feeling of an arm around my waist and for the first time in my life, touch does not send me skidding off the side of the bed and onto the floor. Instead, I roll over and snuggle closer, smiling to myself when Anders pulls me tighter. I'm not even sure if he's <em>awake<em> yet, but I'm not complaining.

It's Dawn that finally reminds me that time has passed and she needs food or she'll start eating the furniture.

I begin to slide out of bed when the grip on me reverses and suddenly I squeak and I'm pinned to the mattress by a very awake and very amused Anders.

"Going somewhere?" he murmurs, and I forget for a second why I would ever possibly want to leave.

"Dawn. Food," I manage to stammer intelligently. To punctuate my statement, Dawn joins us on the bed and the sudden addition of a large, hungry mabari is enough incentive for Anders to sigh dramatically and roll back off and onto the bed. I dart out and pull on the first thing I grab—which just so happens to be Anders' coat and a personal fantasy is now fulfilled—and hurry into the kitchen to throw something edible together for Dawn.

When I return, he's already up, pulling on his tunic and he glances over with a warm smile. "I'll never be able to wear that again now, you know," he points out, grinning, "All I'll be able to think about is you wearing it," he steps closer and pulls me to him, "naked."

I blush at his tone and can't help the girly giggle and wonder _who _is_ this man and what did I do to deserve him?_

"I think," he continues with a contemplative expression, "that this was the best Nameday of my life."

"I take it you enjoyed your present, then?" I try to come off sounding flirty, but instead I sound shy and insecure, as if I'm eighteen again.

He whispers in my ear and I shiver at the feel of his breath on my neck. "Very much." He pulls back and smiles.

Remember when I said I was chatty when I was nervous? Well, I might not be _nervous_ now, but there is apparently no OFF switch for my mouth.

"I still have to tell you my secret," I whisper, and he raises a brow. "I…" _You can do this. _"I love you."

And I close my eyes, waiting for the hammer to fall. I might not know much, but I read enough back home to know most men don't react favorably to hearing that. I hear an intake of breath and then I can feel his hand on my cheek and I open my eyes, almost sagging when I see the look in his eyes that I recognize on a subconscious level, even without having seen it before.

"I love you, too," he smiles. "I'd been holding back saying it." There it is: the darkness, the uncertainty, the _guilt_. "You should have a normal life. Not tied down to an apostate with no future." Before I have a chance to remind him who it is he's talking to, he continues. "But… I don't ever want to leave you."

_Leave? As if I'd let you do that you silly man. _

"Don't ever leave." It's more of a plea than a request. If he walks away _now_…

He smiles and tilts his head to look me in the eye. "Do you mean that?" Of course I do. "Would you have me here, living with you?" Of course I would! "Would you tell the world, the Knight-Commander, that you love an apostate and will stand beside him?" I'd tell the bloody Divine if it means you'd stay with me.

"I want you right here," I insist, falling into him and resting my head on his chest, feeling _safe_, "until the day we die." And knowing our luck, that could be tomorrow, so less talking more hugging.

"I still can't believe this is real," he admits, and I have to agree with him. "I'm terrified I'll wake up."

"Then let's make the best of it before you do," I smile, trying to hide my own similar fears.

Fortunately for me, Anders is all too willing to oblige.


	50. Ch 50: The Horrors of Necromancy

**Lesson Number Eleven:**

**_The Horrors of Necromancy_**

_(On Death)_

* * *

><p>It felt extremely liberating to not have to hold myself back anymore. I now had twenty-four hour access to all the… erm…<em>hugs<em> I wanted, and no one would look at me funny when I'd cling to his arm or go out of my way to stay near him.

He didn't move in with me, per se… it would probably be more accurate to say _I_ moved in with _him_. My stuff was still in Lowtown, but the only thing I was afraid to lose was in Darktown, so that's where I stayed. I was still queasy around blood, but Anders taught me how to heal—I am now a better healer than Garrett, and I intend to lord this fact over him for as long as possible—and I helped out around the clinic whenever we weren't off gallivanting across the countryside with Garrett.

It was impossible to have guessed how quickly things were about to go wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _Oh my goodness, 50 chapters! o.o I can hardly believe it's gotten this long! Thanks for staying with me!_


	51. Chapter 51

**Solace, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>"The Gallows? Are you insane?" Anders was yelling, flailing his arms as if that somehow accentuated his point.<p>

I couldn't help but agree with him. Garrett intended to take four apostates into the Gallows to speak to a _Templar?_

"Wouldn't it be a better idea to, say, _not_ drag every free mage you know into that prison?" I manage to ask in between wondering if I should be laughing or not.

Garrett ran fingers through his hair while Merrill shifted in place behind him. I had been surprised when he and the little blood mage had showed up in the clinic, all sheepish smiles and awkward waving. Now it all made sense. Sort of.

"Look, I'm not asking you to actually _go_ into the Gallows with me. Just wait at the docks until I get back. The last time I spoke to Emeric he suspected blood magic, and I'd rather have a bunch of mages than trigger-happy lyrium elves or squabbling women. No offense."

"If I don't have to go into the Gallows, I'll help you," I smile, still uneasy but relieved he wasn't _completely_ stupid. I turn to look at Anders, who's clearly not liking this turn of events, and take his hand. "Anders?"

He sighs, defeated. I have discovered that if I can _touch_ him when I ask him something, he's powerless to resist. Especially if I add in my patented puppy eyes for good measure. "Fine. But when Hawke gets himself arrested I'm allowed to say 'I told you so!'"

Garrett beams, as if he'd known all along we would agree. "Great! You two meet us at the Docks tonight and we'll see what Emeric has to say. Come along, Merrill."

I watch as they bounce out of the clinic and can't help but shake my head.

"Sometimes I wonder if that man has his head on straight," Anders grumbles as he turns back to the line of patients.

"I think we all wonder that."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _Things are getting hectic on the homefront, so chapters may be a bit slower in coming, but I'll try and keep up to the best of my ability!_


	52. Chapter 52

**Solace, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I shuffle my feet nervously, peering around the seemingly abandoned mansion. I can feel this… <em>tingling<em> on my skin, and Anders described it as feeling the touch of powerful blood magic. Somehow that does not make feel better.

I'm not all that surprised when Shades pop up to attack us, but Garrett is, judging by the unmanly yelp and curses he yells at them when they fade back into the floor. I can't say I didn't find the sight of him glowering at the floor amusing, but we do manage to convince him to keep moving.

What we find is not encouraging. Notes of apology from the Knight-Commander—I didn't even know Meredith knew how to _say_ 'I'm sorry', nonetheless _write _it—a letter from the Starkhaven Circle politely insisting he keep his nose out of their damn business, and a trunk full of women's clothes.

So far it is not looking good for Gascard De Puis. And is that _really_ his name? I can just imagine little Gascard in the schoolyard, being teased for having cruel parents that named him something so awful, and struggling to spell his name without flinching. Orlesians apparently do not have common sense when it comes to naming a child.

No wonder the man turned to blood magic.

When we finally find him, the fact that a sobbing woman is crouched at his feet and he's trying to rationalize why he needs blood to track her (creeper) is not helping his case, and Garrett is all but ready to clap him in irons and call it a day.

And then he starts _talking_ and, as we all know, Garrett is a sucker for sob-stories.

'Oh no, I'm not a killer. Yes I'm a blood mage and yes I'm a creeper who likes to keep women's clothing in a trunk in my bedroom, but I'm not a killer! I swear!'

Garrett lets him run and as soon as the danger is passed, the contrite expression falls from Gascard's face and he looks so _smug_…

I hate smug. I just want to punch smug people in the face until they get the point.

He tells us he'll be in Darktown if we _need_ him, and smugly walks out like the smug Mr. Smugsalot that is he, and I just want to smack him.

"So I'm the only one who thinks he's just a _teensy_ bit suspicious?" I ask in disbelief.

"I trust him about as far as I could throw him," Anders grumbles. "Are you sure letting him go was a good idea, Hawke?"

Garrett ignores our complaints with his usual charm. "He's just a piece of the puzzle. Come on, let's go back to Emeric and tell him what we've learned."

What _did_ we learn, Garrett? I'd love to know. Please enlighten me.

I listen to Garrett and Merrill chatting, and exchange a worried glance with Anders, taking his hand and squeezing it. I can't help but feel like Garrett really isn't taking this whole thing seriously.

I wish he had been.


	53. Chapter 53

**Solace, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>The first thing I notice when I wake up is the yelling. Anders grumbles in his sleep and pulls me closer, but I am wide awake now and wondering <em>how on Earth is the man still asleep?<em>

Anders' cot isn't designed for two people, but since neither of us have any qualms about sleeping as close together as humanly possible, it doesn't really hinder us that much. I see Dawn raise her head and prick her ears towards the door, and then she stands and snarls, and that's enough of a reason for me to roll out of bed.

Anders protests but I wiggle free and hop around until I'm half-dressed and tip-toe to the door.

"Liz…?"

I shush him and peer around the corner, half-expecting to see a rage demon tearing up the place, but instead all I see is Garrett yelling at Erlina, one of the assistants Anders keeps around to help during the busy hours. Garrett spots me in the doorway and crosses the space between us in two steps, looking desperate.

"Where's Anders?" he demands, voice hard, "We need to go."

The tone of his voice is enough to send me skittering back inside where a drowsy Anders is blinking at the ceiling.

"Anders, Garrett needs us."

Anders grumbles as he swings himself out of bed and pulls on his clothes. "Man has the timing of a Templar…"

We join him at the door and spot Varric and Fenris already there, looking antsy and nervous, and I blink.

"It's mother," Garrett begins, then begins to breathe heavily and turns and heads into the darkness.

"Leandra's been taken. She received white lilies," Varric explains as we hurry after him, both of us wide awake immediately.

"You don't think…" I trail off. They wouldn't be here if they didn't. As we bolt through Darktown towards where Du Puis was hiding, I can only hope we won't be too late.

* * *

><p>We were too late.<p>

I stare helplessly at what remains of Leandra Hawke as Garrett falls to his knees beside her, cradling the body wearing his mother's face to his chest, and I fumble for Anders' hand and pull myself against his side.

I can't look at her. I just can't. She was always so sweet to everyone. So nice, so gentle. She didn't deserve this. _No one_ deserves this.

My vision is blurry and I realize I'm crying, but all I can hear is the choked sobs of Garrett as he rocks on his heels, and all I can think is _I was too late_. Anders pulls me to his chest and I hide away in his coat, wishing this would all just go away.

But it won't. Because this is _real_. This is _happening_.

"Liz?" a hoarse voice asks, and against my better judgment, I turn. Garrett stands behind me, eyes red, and I sob once and let go of Anders to pull him into a hug, and I'm almost crushed by the intensity of the embrace he gives me.

"I'm here, Gare," I whisper, rubbing his back as Anders and Varric speak in low tones about _funerals_ and _burials_ and things I don't want to hear about.

"You're all I've got left, Liz," Garrett murmurs harshly, squeezing me tight, "I won't let anything happen to you."

"I know, Gare. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good."

If only it was.

* * *

><p>The funeral was a quiet affair. I'd never been to one before, but I hadn't expected it to <em>hurt<em> so much. The Circle wouldn't let Bethany come, but Carver was there in his full Templar plate, standing in a corner pretending he didn't know Garrett existed.

I'm not sure if that was because of his duty or his anger.

I stood beside Garrett, holding his hand. Or, more accurately, I stood there and let him grip my hand so tight I hadn't been able to feel it for the past ten minutes. Anders stood on my other side with his arm around my waist, and I was grateful for his grounding presence. I had only known Leandra a few years, but it felt as if I'd known her my whole life only to have her ripped away.

We held it on the Coast, out in the sun and breeze. Garrett said she'd have liked it that way.

I couldn't watch when they set her on the pyre. I couldn't watch her burn. I hid in Anders' shoulder and waited for it all to be over, and when it was, Garrett and Carver were gone. I wanted to look for them, but Varric stopped me.

We walked back to the clinic in a daze. I half expected to wake up at any minute; for this to all have been a horrible dream.

But as I lay on the cot curled around Anders, and the nightmare went on, I knew.

* * *

><p><em>Leandra Hawke<em>

_8:85 Blessed – 9:34 Dragon_

_Loving Mother, Caring Sister_

_You Will Be Missed_


	54. Ch 54: To Dance on Arland's Gallows

**Lesson Number Twelve:**

_**"To Dance on Arland's Gallows"**_

_(On the Circle)_

* * *

><p>You know, now that I think about it, I can't really find it in me to be surprised that things were going to get worse before they got better. Garrett was a ghost of his former self, and without his constant joyful mood the rest of the group sort of drifted into this moody phase.<p>

At least Anders was too distracted by writing his manifesto to have noticed that we hadn't been to the Hanged Man in a month. I swear, sometimes that man forgets to feed himself when he gets into a writing funk.

I was pleased with myself, though, since I now knew enough healing magic to handle all but the most grievous of injuries at the clinic, and I liked being able to let the man sleep for a change. Justice pushes him too hard. If I went to the Fade when I slept, I would kick the spirit in the arse and tell him _exactly_ what I think of his treatment of my handsome healer.


	55. Chapter 55

**August, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Argh… I wish someone would have warned me how bloody <em>exhausting<em> healing magic is. I feel like I've got little iron weights hanging from my fingers and arms, and I'm pretty sure I'm one spell away from collapsing into a boneless heap on the floor.

How does Anders _do_ this all day? I think I understand why he always looks so tired now. For the love of all that is good and pink in the world… this is _torture_.

I've had my head on this desk for the past hour, trying to not pass out, when the door to the clinic creaks open and I grunt something unintelligible that _might_ have resembled 'hello' on a good day.

See, Garrett had stopped by and taken Anders with him on one of his ventures for the Qunari or something or other, and after much convincing and persuading, I managed to talk Anders into letting me run the clinic for the day.

Hah. Boy do I regret that _now_. I'm not nearly selfless enough to martyr myself healing the sick and the injured for hours on end like this.

Someone clears their throat in front of me and I blink and raise my head, not entirely sure what I'm looking at. And then I'm wide awake and jerking back, because that is a sword of mercy on that breastplate and I am _not happy_.

"We've received reports of an apostate on the premises," the Templar says in a voice muffled by the ridiculous winged helmet he's wearing. "Are you she?"

Well, of course I'm going to admit to being an apostate! All mages just _love_ telling Templars that they can work magic!

"Depends. Do you have a rash?"

The helmet stares at me and I sort of feel bad that he doesn't have a sense of humor. "No." Oh, well at least he graced me with a reply. "I've been sent to collect the Healer of Darktown. But the reports said he was a man."

Ah, Anders. What would you do without me?

Get caught by the damn Templars, that's what.

"You know, you'd be surprised how often I hear that. I must look very manly in the right lighting." Not even a chuckle. Wow, either I am really off my game today or being a stick-in-the-mud is a Templar requirement. I clear my throat. "Yes. I'm a healer."

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me then, serrah." Oh, you're asking nicely? Well sure then! I'd love to come. "Don't resist." Resist? Why would I resist? You _did_ ask nicely.

"Mind if I feed my mabari before we go?" I blink innocently as he pauses, turning his head to stare at Dawn, who has been boring a hole into his armor with her glare since he arrived. Not waiting for a reply, I turn to Dawn and fold my fingers together. "Please go find Garrett and tell him to lock up the clinic when he leaves."

Dawn snarls, clearly not wanting to go, but a hard look from me and she snorts and runs out the clinic. A hand grasps my forearm and I gasp as a chill creeps out from the cold armor. It feels like someone just drugged me.

Oh dear. A mana drain?

"That… was unpleasant…" I remember mumbling as I collapse.

This isn't good.

Not good at all.


	56. Chapter 56

**August, 9:34 Dragon **

**The Gallows**

* * *

><p>When I finally come to, I'm being dragged between two rather unfriendly-looking chaps off a boat and into the Gallows. For a place meant to protect and shelter mages, it sure looks like an execution block. Or a prison. Maybe there's something to Anders' ranting after all.<p>

I can't feel my fingers anymore, and that constant draining chill from their gauntlets is seriously making me feel nauseated. Something clatters to the ground off to my right and I turn my head to stare blearily in that direction.

A wide-eyed young man is staring at me with his jaw hanging open, and it takes me a moment for the haze to clear enough for me to recognize him. I smile at him and wiggle my hand in something that is sort of like a wave.

"Hi, Carver!" I call cheerily, and then glare up at one of the Templars when they shake me to stop me from talking. "Don't worry! Just stopping by for a nice chat!"

And then they turn a sharp right and I don't even bother trying to walk. If they want to physically drag me into the Gallows, I'm not walking in on my own power. When they finally come to a halt and I find my legs again, I'm a little peeved that they don't let go of my arms.

Are a lot of apostates stupid enough to attack Templars inside the Gallows? Because I'm not.

Another Templar approaches with a large knife that's scalloped on the underside, and I stare at it with wide-eyes. He's also holding a small vial, and as it clicks I begin to panic. Oooh Anders is _not_ going to be happy about this.

"Are you going to give me a haircut?" I ask hopefully, glancing from the blade to the helmeted Templar holding the glass vial. "No? So sad."

I flinch when they cut into my arm and can't make myself look as they take my blood. They don't even wrap the wound when they're done. How unsanitary. And rude. The Templar holding my left arm (the uninjured one) however reaches over and does wrap a bandage around it almost as an afterthought, and I feel a little relief that at least one of them has some humanity.

"Name, apostate?"

I look up. And blanch. I would know that blond hair and those steel eyes anywhere. Oh I am _screwed_.

"Liz Hawke," I repeat obediently. Like _hell _I'm giving you my real name, Knight-Commander.

She looks up from the list she's holding and pierces me with eyes that glint with more than madness. "Hawke?"

"Yes, ser."

She stares at me for a while, as if trying to decide if I'm lying, before she reaches the conclusion that she really doesn't give a damn and barks out some orders that sound suspiciously like 'take it to its room' and I'm a little offended at being called _it_ but I let it slide.

I look around at the cells we pass—cells, not rooms—and I fidget at the state of the mages I see. They're just… listless. Dead. Devoid of life or hope. If I didn't know better, I'd say most of them were already Tranquil.

I'm shoved rather roughly into an unoccupied cell and I stand there, not sure what to do with myself, until the door clicks behind me. At least there's bars, so I'm not in the dark. The room isn't large. Maybe 5x5? There's a cot that looks too short for even _me_ to lay on, a bucket—oh I hope that's not what it looks like—and a single blanket with a moldy pillow.

I stare at the bucket for a moment, and then turn and look at the bars on the door. No privacy? Really? Well this day just went from worse to bloody awful.

One of my helmeted captors approaches with a green robe in his hands along with what looks like a piece of wood, and I blink as I realize I'm being given my Circle robes.

"_The last suit you'll ever wear."_

Somehow it's more depressing here than it was in the movie.

He slides them through the bars of the door as if he's afraid I'd bite him should he step inside, and then vanishes. At least he didn't stick around to watch me dress.

The robes don't fit. They're too long for me, and they sag around my shoulders, but the staff was a nice surprise. It's taller than I am, so I lean it in a corner and wonder how I'm supposed to use it. I've never had a staff before.

I'm not sure how long I stay in there, sitting on the cot or pacing around the small space, before they come back for me. They don't say anything, just take my arms and pull me along after I snatch my new staff.

I blink at the small room they bring me to and then stare at the pedestal of lyrium in the center.

Ah. The Harrowing.

They aren't even going to test me first? They really _don't_ care if I pass, do they?

The First Enchanter is there, looking apologetic, and I just roll my eyes at his uselessness.

"So do I just touch it or what?" I ask, hopping in place as soon as the Templars release me and step back. I hear a sword unsheathe and I glance to the side, spotting Carver again, looking sick. Oh joy! Carver was chosen to be my Knight-Attendant, eh? Meredith must think she's _sooo_ funny. I wonder if he was chosen to be Bethany's too.

Orsino gives me some advice that I really don't hear, and I step forward and put my hand in the bowl of lyrium, not sure what to expect. Oh well. Here goes nothing.


	57. Chapter 57

**August, 9:34 Dragon **

**The Gallows**

* * *

><p>I'm pretty sure "absolutely nothing" was not what was supposed to happen. I stare around uncertainly.<p>

"Um," I begin as the Templars shift uneasily. "Was something supposed to happen?" Is this a joke? Aren't I supposed to fall asleep or something?

Orsino steps forward, looking curious, and studies where my hand is resting in the bowl of lyrium. He then looks at me and puts his hands on my temples, much like Anders had that first night he learned I had magic, and focuses. When he steps back, his brows are nearly in his hairline.

"I don't sense any sort of connection to the Fade."

"What?" a voice booms, and I whirl, keeping my hand in the bowl for evidence, as Meredith marches in, obviously summoned by one of her lackeys. "What do you mean, Orsino?"

The First Enchanter shrugged. "What I said, Knight-Commander. The lyrium isn't reacting to her because she has no connection to the Fade."

Meredith focuses hard eyes on me and I squirm. "What trickery is this, mage?"

"No trickery, ser." I motion to my submerged hand. "Should I drink it, maybe?"

She doesn't blink as she turns to Carver. "Smite her."

Carver jerks. "C-Commander?"

"_Smite_ her."

Carver looks at me apologetically as he gathers the white energy to his hands, and I flinch in anticipation. Anders had described it to me once. Like being slammed into a wall by an ogre while simultaneously having your brain melted. I wasn't looking forward to it.

I see the column of light, feel it slam into me and send me skidding across the floor until I land on my back with an _oof!_ but I didn't feel any brain-melting. I blink at the ceiling. "That was very… bright."

Orsino helps me to my feet and sends a smug look at the Knight-Commander, and I applaud his bravery. "Seems like your precious Knights made a mistake, Commander. She is no mage."

I bite my tongue. Sure. Let's pretend I'm not a mage. I like this plan.

The Knight-Commander looks like she's about to have a stroke. "Get her back to her cell! I'll deal with this."

Oh, I'm a _her_ now? Well that's an improvement.

I let Carver take my arm and drag me away, pretending like I'm sulking, when in actuality I'm replaying the look on Meredith's face when the smite failed to do much more than knock me over. As we walk, I look around innocently.

"So how are you, Carver?"

He blinks and looks down at me incredulously. "How did you do that?"

"Do what? I stuck my hand in the mysterious blue liquid like they asked. It's not my fault if their lyrium is defective," I huffed. "_Oh, it's nice to see you too Liz. I'm so glad you're all right!_ Thank you, Carver. That's very sweet. _Oh it's nothing. You were always my favorite sister ever._"

Carver snorts before he can catch himself and puts on his 'stoic Templar face' as he opens the door to my cell. "Garrett is going to kill me…" he mumbles as he walks off, and I stare at the walls with a shrug.

Well. That was bracing.


	58. Chapter 58

**August, 9:34 Dragon **

**The Gallows**

* * *

><p>I had finally managed to doze off when Orsino and a couple other mages arrive, telling me they're going to try to Harrow me another way.<p>

Well gee! That sounds so gosh darn inviting! Let me get right on that.

Turns out they can send a mage into the Fade through some kind of ritual as well as the Harrowing, and they're going to give that a go. I'm not looking forward to this. The Fade has demons and spirits and nasty things and I'm a little nervous.

But if my options are this or being Tranquil, Harrow me please.

We go back to that little room and the mages start chanting, and I spot Meredith and a few other Templars hovering nearby, and I'm about to open my mouth and make some kind of witty remark about liking to watch when I suddenly feel _very tired_.

* * *

><p>I don't even remember falling over, but when I open my eyes again I'm in some weird bleak landscape filled with greens and greys and browns, and I sigh.<p>

Bloody fantastic. The sodding Fade. Joy of joys.

I crawl to my feet and pat myself down. Robe, check. Staff, missing but probably not useful anyway. Hands, feet, check and check. I look up in time for a little mouse-thing to be scurrying towards me and I stare at it as it begins _talking_.

Hmm. Now, I'm not a rodent expert, but I'm pretty sure mice aren't supposed to talk. I look around the Fade again and ponder this development. From what Anders told me, you can't trust _anything_ in the Fade except yourself.

I look back at the 'mouse.' It is clearly waiting for an answer.

Pfft. I'll give it an answer, all right.

I shift my foot and give the thing a swift kick, punting it over the edge of the landscape and off into empty air, watching as it squeaks and flails and cracks and transforms into something _huge_ and _purple_ before vanishing over the side.

I snort. "Demon. Hah."

I continue on my way, gaping a bit at the Spirit of Valor when he starts talking about valorous things.

"Are you related to the Spirit of Justice, by any chance?" I can't help but ask. He doesn't answer me, and I huff off, annoyed. I run into a sloth demon that looks like a spikey bear and play some riddle games with it before wandering around some more.

Oh! A rage demon. Ok then. I hurl some lightning at it and watch as it dissolves into the ground.

And I wait.

And wait.

…ok. Was that it? If so, that was really anticlimac—

* * *

><p>—I wake up on my back with a sword pressed to my throat. "I'm not possessed, I swear," I rasp. How long was I out?<p>

Not long, if Orsino's wide eyes or Meredith's grudgingly impressed expression are any indication. No one offers to help me to my feet, so I scramble up on my own, swaying a little before I steady myself.

I look from the First Enchanter to the Knight-Commander. "Am I Harrowed now?"

Orsino smiles a little. "Fastest Harrowing since Malcolm Hawke."

I can't wait to tell Garrett.

Oh, Meredith doesn't look happy. What's she saying? Oh don't hit me with the pommel of that sword, please.

…damn it…

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_I can't seem to stop writing these, hah. I'll probably keep putting up chapters until I get to Lesson Thirteen, then I'll go pass out or something equally unproductive._


	59. Chapter 59

**August, 9:34 Dragon **

**The Gallows**

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><p>Meredith really doesn't like me.<p>

She's been trying to get me to admit to how I tricked her with the lyrium—she tried to give me some, but all that did was make me nauseated and I spat it back out in disgust—and she doesn't seem to believe me when I say I don't go to the Fade when I dream.

_Forcing_ me into the Fade via our little Harrowing ritual aside, I'd never been there, and she is getting frustrated.

"Isn't this a good thing?" I manage in between her fuming and Orsino's quiet interruptions. The man is about as useful as a sewing pin against a Qunari. "I mean, if I'm cut off from the Fade, doesn't that mean I can't be possessed?"

She stops pacing at that, and Orsino perks up, but then Meredith whirls and snarls. She actually snarls. I have to stop myself from laughing. "What it _means_, mage, is that we have no means of collaring your powers. You are a danger to society in this condition."

You mean _alive_? Oh yes, I can see how this 'condition' might offend you somewhat.

"Commander, think of what we could learn from her," Orsino tries, but Meredith doesn't seem to have even heard him. In fact, she seems quite content just talking to herself as if neither of us are even there.

"I can't collar her… she's a danger… unchecked magic, just waiting to strike us…" She stops and grins, and I shudder a little. "Let us test this 'connection' of yours, mage." She is clearly not sane. Meredith turns and marches out of the room leaving the two of us staring at her back, and I hear her yelling. "Knight-Captain! Prepare the Rite!"

Oh. Um.

Shit.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_How irritating! It seems chapters 60-64 are being persnickity and not showing up. I shall resolve to beat my laptop with my fists until it works correctly. This sounds like an excellent idea. I apologize for the wait. *grumble*_


	60. Chapter 60

**August, 9:34 Dragon **

**The Gallows**

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><p>"You know, I'm sure we could work something out here…"<p>

"Silence, mage."

"I'd really rather not," I whisper, looking around at the mages gathered at the bars of their cages, staring wide-eyed at me. If my entourage of Templars wasn't hint enough, Meredith screaming at Cullen to prepare the Rite certainly was. They all watch with pity and fear, thinking _I could be next_, and I realize something important.

Anders is right. Looking at the faces of these mages, terrified, bloodied and beaten, I realize now that this system has to stop. If I make it out of this, I am going straight to my healer and pledging myself to 'the cause.'

That is, after I ravish him in relief, of course.

That goes without saying.

Carver is on my left, stone-faced, but I know him well enough to see that he's struggling not to just grab me and run, and I wonder why he isn't. Then I see a glimpse of a familiar face and an even more familiar voice crying out as I walk by.

"Liz!" Bethany. I turn to look at her and try to smile encouragingly, but then she's gone and we're in a room with a chair in the middle that reminds me a _little_ too much of an electric chair for my liking.

I'm put in the chair and strapped in. Wrists, ankles, head… I can only wiggle my fingers and that's only through an extreme push of will. This isn't looking promising. I'm helpless to do anything but watch as one of the helmeted Templars retrieves what looks eerily like a fire poker from a bowl of red lyrium—why is it _red_?—and handles it as if he's holding a snake by the tail.

I can very clearly see the sun-shaped circle on the end of the rod and I can't breathe. It's too close, too strapped, _confinement_; and I panic. I hear myself talking but I have no idea what I'm saying and then suddenly the world goes silent as the rod nears my forehead.

I can't hear _anything_. No wind. No breathing. No creak of shifting armor. I can feel the heat from the rod, closer, _closer_, too close…

…it touches my skin and I _scream_.

I can _hear_ the sizzling of the heat at my skin and I can _feel_ the burn branded into my forehead. The pain is something _more_ than pain, and I'm still screaming but the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat as I wait for _something_ to take the pain away.

After an excruciating moment, the rod is pulled back and I cry, sobbing in place as I shudder and wince at the hiss of the burn on my forehead. My fingers are digging into the wood of the chair and I heave in a desperate breath, still deaf to the world.

"Holy mother of _shit_," I gasp, "Are you _insane?_"

I blink back the tears and stare incredulously at the gathered, wide-eyed Templars. Orsino makes a strangled sound and falls backwards, unconscious. The door slams open and all eyes swivel to the panting Templar standing there.

"Serah Hawke is here with the Guard Captain. He is… not happy."

I can't help it. I laugh. They all turn to look at me as I shake in my chair, laughing hysterically, tears still streaming down my face. I hear them talking but I can't look away from the hard eyes of the Knight-Commander, shining with uncertainty, and I grin such a crazed, feral grin that she actually takes a step back.

Oh she is so _screwed_.


	61. Chapter 61

**August, 9:34 Dragon **

**The Gallows**

* * *

><p>They've undone the straps, but I can't bring myself to stand. I can hear yelling outside, voices painful in their familiarity, and I just stare at the wall, breathing deep and even as I try to calm myself.<p>

The voices are growing closer, and now I can hear Meredith yelling something but I can't really bring myself to care about what that bitch has to say. The door is pushed open again, cautiously, as if whoever's on the other side is afraid of what's inside, and then Garrett steps inside uncertainly with Aveline on his heels.

His eyes brighten at the sight of me, but he freezes halfway across the room, face paling as he notices what I'm sure is a beautiful red burn on my forehead, and he staggers back into Aveline, who's also wide-eyed.

Hmm. That's the most expression I think I've ever seen on Aveline.

Garrett advances even slower, horror written across his face, and he tentatively puts one of his hands on mine. "…Liz?" he asks in a shaking voice.

I look at him and take a breath. "It's about damn time you got here."

His eyes widen and then he sobs and pulls me into a crushing embrace, and I pat him on the back. Over his shoulder, I can see Aveline looking _murderous_ and I sigh. Garrett pulls back and searches my face, not quite believing, and then his eyes fix on some spot above my eyes and he winces, raising his fingers to touch the brand. I hiss and pull back, and he apologies profusely, but I wave him off.

"You're here to save me, right?" I ask hopefully, and Garrett gives me a ghost of a smile.

"Yes. We're here to save you," he whispers back. He wraps my arm around his shoulders so he can help me walk and together we sort of limp out of the room in a daze.

Aveline is in a ferocious yelling match with Meredith, face as red as her hair, and the Knight-Commander looks so flustered and confused that I almost laugh. But I don't, because she _tried to make me Tranquil_ and for that I'm obligated to hate her with a passion.

"You gave an undeserving citizen of Kirkwall the Brand!" Aveline is screaming, completely having lost her cool. "The Grand Cleric and the Viscount will be hearing of this, _Knight-Commander_. Mark my words."

Oh goody! Now I can show off my new brand! At least Meredith looks a little nervous, if not repentant, and I spare her only a cursory blank glare as we shuffle past, which she returns venomously.

The halls are eerily silent as Garrett helps me down the hall, all the mages staring with horrified fascination at the sun brand on my forehead, and I smile at them to show I'm _not_ a brainless husk, and the general air of relief is palpable. The Templars all stand aside, the ones without helmets looking pale and uncertain (hah yes, you just Tranquiled someone who can fight back. Be afraid. Be very afraid).

I'm surprised at the crowd waiting outside the Gallows for us, and they all recoil at the sight of my brand and I sigh. Maybe I can ask Isabela for some makeup. Hmph. I finally start wearing the colored dust and it's to hide a sodding _brand_. Life is beautiful, isn't it?

The ship ride to the Docks is pleasant, the Templar manning the boat can't take his eyes off my forehead, but a glare from Garrett has him looking away awkwardly. There's a veritable mob of our companions huddled at the Docks, and they all crowd around as soon as Garrett helps me off the boat.

Varric grits his teeth and clutches Bianca, looking like he wants to go charging in and introducing her to some Templar arses, and I can't help but agree with him. Fenris even looks unnerved, shifting feet as if he's not sure whether it would be appropriate to stare at me like everyone else seems to do, and he approaches cautiously, eyes averted.

"I know what it is to be branded like an animal," he admits in a low voice, "Anything I have to say would be insufficient. I'm sorry."

Isabela is _fidgeting_. "Is kitten all right? She isn't… all _blah_?"

"Blah?" I ask incredulously, and all eyes turn to me with varying levels of surprise. I suppose seeing a walking Tranquil with emotions would be surprising. "You think I'm blah?"

And then she's pounced on me and engulfed me in a hug and I'm powerless to resist her. But the man I really want to see isn't here, and I turn to Garrett questioningly. His expression turns pained.

"He's… at the clinic," Garrett rubs the back of his neck nervously, and I frown.

"He was in bad shape, kitten," Isabela coos, smoothing out my awful green robe, "I've never seen him like that."

Uh oh. I should probably go check on him. Garrett nods to me and I smile back, darting around the questing gazes and aiming for Darktown. Oh I hope Justice didn't throw too much of a fit…

I could really use a good ravishing right about now.


	62. Chapter 62

**August, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I push open the clinic door and for a minute I just stand there.<p>

Somebody threw a fit.

There are cots flung around the room on their sides, papers covering the floor and every surface, and what looks like burn marks marring the ceiling and walls. Oh dear. One of the support beams is broken in half with a large chunk missing out of the middle. Did he _punch_ it?

Dawn is huddling in a corner, and as soon as I step inside she's bounded across the clinic and jumping up, putting her paws on my shoulders as she licks my face, whining. She pays special attention to my new facial adornment and I push her off before I fall over.

"Anders?" I call uncertainly, wandering into the back rooms, but the clinic is empty. I frown nervously and look at Dawn. "Where's Anders?" She whines in response, and I can't help but feel dread as I wonder what he could possibly be doing.

I head back outside and catch one of the children who hands around the clinic, Walter I think his name was, and ask if he's seen the healer.

"Headed up to Hightown, he did," the boy whimpers and lowers his voice, "He was scary, miss Liz. He was on fire."

I pale and thank him before bolting up the stairs to the lift, Dawn at my heels. It takes an insane amount of time to get to Hightown, and I'm torn at a crossroads, wondering where he could have gone. The Viscount's office? The Chantry? Hawke's estate?

Dawn puts her nose to the ground and sniffs around for a moment before barking and running off to the right. Chantry it is, then. I've got a bad feeling about this…

I skid to a stop in front of the Chantry, not sure how to process what I'm seeing. The large gilded doors have been blown off their hinges, and the obvious scorch marks adorning the walls around the frame has me running up the steps in alarm. I can hear yelling from inside, but no screams, so that's good.

I almost slam into his Royal Shininess, in full arms and armor, as I run through the open doors, and he catches me on reflex, eyes widening when he realizes who I am.

"Thank the Maker," he yells over the crack of thunder in the air and the shouts of the brothers and sisters. "He's gone after the Grand Cleric, wouldn't stop raving about—" His jaw snaps shut as his eyes find the sun brand on my forehead and he pales, shaking. "Sweet blood of Andraste…"

I push past him, skirting around fleeing priests as I head up the stairs to where I can see Elthina pressed against the railing by the throat.

That is _not_ Anders. The blue cracks in his skin and the endless depths of the Fade swirling in his eyes are a testament to the untamed magic cracking through the air like a whip.

"**Where is she?**" he demands, pressing poor Elthina so hard into the metal railing that it creaks in protest. That's Justice's voice, but the desperation in it hints that Anders might be in more control than I'd thought.

Elthina's eyes flick to me and she claws at the Fade-cracked hand around her neck.

"Anders!" I yell over the tempest cracking around us, and I see his body tense as he swivels glowing eyes to me. I clear the distance between us and insinuate myself in between him and Elthina, keeping his eyes on mine. "I'm here, Anders, let her go."

He blinks, searching my face as if he's not entirely sure who I am, before the cracks in his skin flicker and close, and the otherworldly tint to his eyes drains away. His raises shaking hands to my cheeks and I hear Elthina gasping for breath behind me.

Then his amber eyes flick to the brand on my forehead and the color drains from his face moments before the cracks reopen in his skin and the air snaps with his anger.

"No no no," I insist, pulling him to me and rocking as he falls and brings me with him to his knees. I rub my hands across his back. "It's all right. I'm all right. See? I'm fine. I'm not Tranquil. It's all right. Everything's all right."

"**You…**"

"No, see? I'm fine!" I pull back and smile into the glowing depths of his eyes. "I'm a bit sore, but I'm fine. All right? It's okay. I'm okay. Hmm?" I cup his jaw in one hand and stare at him, trying to decipher what it is I'm seeing in those blue eyes.

And then he's crushing me to him, and I melt into his arms, feeling the strength of his magic pulsing in the air and I lean into his shoulder, still rubbing his back with one hand. And before I realize he's moved we're standing and my back hits the wall behind us. I have exactly three seconds to stare at him wide-eyed before he crushes his mouth to mine and my eyes flutter closed.

This is very clearly not Anders. If the flickering blue cracks in his skin weren't enough of a give-away, the desperation and unexpected possessiveness of his kiss sure is.

Oh. Oh _my_. Justice is _very_ happy to see me. Not what I had expected after our little 'incident' in the sewers, but I am _not_ complaining.

I can almost forget we're standing in the middle of the Chantry with the Grand Cleric staring at us. In fact, Justice is doing a brilliant job of doing just that.

He growls something in my ear as he bites at my neck and I am helpless to hold back the moan at it. Anders was never like _this_. He was always so gentle and compassionate, as if afraid he would hurt me. Justice is all hard lines and hunger and Lord help me but I _like_ it.

"**Mine,**" the sheer possessiveness in that single word has me shaking like a leaf, and if he hadn't been pinning me to the wall I would have crumpled. "**You're mine.**"

I open my eyes at that. That was very clearly Justice's voice. Mm. Our unintentional threesome just became a whole lot more interesting. "Anders… _Justice_," I clear my throat as I unsuccessfully attempt to pretend that the feeling of being ravished by a Fade spirit is _not_ making me lose my mind. "We're… in the Ch-Chantry," I gasp out. "With an _audience_."

He pauses, breath hot on my neck, and I shiver when he pulls back, as if considering what I've just told him. "**We will finish this.**" That was not a request. Nope. It was not. I jerk my head in what I hope is a nod, and watch, fascinated, as the cracks seal in his skin and the blue fades out of his eyes again. Anders blinks, disoriented, before he seems to realize where he is and what he's doing, and his eyes widen.

I smile. "Why don't we take this elsewhere before we give the Grand Cleric a heart attack."

Anders glances back to where Elthina had been sitting, but she's gone. He nods, once, and takes my hand as he pulls me from the Chantry. I can see the priests hiding in corners and watching us as if I'm being led through the Chantry by a High Dragon, and I can't help but smile.

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><p><strong>AN: **_Hah, I bet you thought I was going to leave you at that cliffhanger! I'm not that cruel. I'm posting these as I finish them-this one just took a tad longer while I chased down my Muse. ;)_


	63. Chapter 63

**August, 9:34 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

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><p>Anders manages to keep his hands to himself all the way back to the clinic, and I find myself having a repeat of our Chantry meeting as he presses me to the wall, resolutely <em>not<em> looking at the throbbing brand seared into my forehead.

"Maker Liz… I… I thought… they told me you were taken."

"They came for you," I admit. I'm not about to lie to the man, not after he assaulted the bloody Grand Cleric trying to find me. "I told them I was the healer they were after and they took me to the Gallows. But everything turned out all right. Garrett came and got me out; no harm done."

"No harm done?" he shouted, eyes wide, fingers gripping my arms so hard I'm pretty sure I'm going to have bruises. "They gave you the br—" Anders choked and rested his head on my shoulder, shaking, and I hug him close. "I saw that… _thing_… and all I could see was Karl. I… I thought I'd lost you just as soon as I got you back."

"You didn't lose me," I insist in a soft voice. "It hurt like hell, but other than that I'm fine. It's really rather funny, actually."

He pulls back and glares at me as if I'd just slapped him. "Don't… _joke_ about this! You could have been…"

"But I'm _not_. You should have seen Meredith's face when the Rite didn't work. She was _petrified_. Aveline tore her a new one when she found out what happened." I smiled, trying to make him laugh, but he just stared at me with this hollow, disbelieving expression, and I let my smile falter. "Anders?"

"When I saw you in the Chantry," he began in a low, uncertain voice, "I'd thought my mind was playing tricks on me. And when I saw the brand… I just thought… it was Karl all over again. You'd be alive and well so long as Justice was there, but when he was gone you'd be…" he trailed off, shaking his head, and my heart ached.

"I'm not Karl, Anders," I whisper, tilting his head up to look at me, "I don't have a connection to the Fade. It's why they couldn't Harrow me the first time, and why the Rite didn't do anything but give me a nice tattoo."

Anders hesitated. "They Harrowed you? Maker…"

"It wasn't hard," I admit uneasily. "It only took a few minutes, max."

His eyes hardened and I swear I saw a spark of blue in them. "So they Harrowed you, and immediately tried to make you Tranquil?"

Well, when you put it _that_ way…

"Anders, will you just hush for a minute and let me hug you?"

He paused, before slumping and pulling me into his arms off the wall, and I cling to him, pressing as close as I can get, feeling safe for the first time in _days_.

"You do know you assaulted the Grand Cleric, right? With magic?"

He tightened his hold. "She can't deny what's happening to mages now," he responds, voice ringing with conviction, and I smile. There's my Anders. "Not with your… with what happened."

"Anders?"

"Mmm?" he mumbled into my hair.

"I can't breathe."

He stepped back a little with a sheepish smile and I grin back at him. I hop up on my toes so I can reach him and capture his lips with mine, smiling into his mouth when his hands find my hips and pull me closer.

He trails kisses along my jaw until he finds my ear and I snap my eyes open and shiver at his whispered "_Mine,_" echoing with an undertone of the Fade.

Well _hello_ there. This should be _fun_.


	64. Ch 64: From all Foes

**Lesson Number Thirteen:**

**_From All Foes, both Foreign and Domestic_**

_(On War)_

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><p>I've finally found a title Garrett hates more than 'Bubbles.' Yes, I called him that once, and it lasted a full day before he threatened to set my underclothes on fire if I didn't stop immediately.<p>

_Champion of Kirkwall_.

Boy does he just hate being called that. As an apostate, attention is a Bad Thing, but ever since he defeated the Arishok he suddenly has more of it than he cares to admit. At least his word has more weight now, and Grand Cleric Elthina was surprisingly understanding once Garrett and I explained why Anders decided attacking the Chantry was a brilliant plan of action, and she didn't even send any Templars after us!

She's still annoyingly neutral, but even she had been shaken once she saw the brand on my forehead. The public was _incensed_. Templars giving the brand to 'innocent' civilians? Oh yeah, tensions are _high_. I think their popularity is at an all-time low now, and Meredith is not a happy camper about it.

It took some convincing, but Anders finally allowed me to help out with the Underground, even if he never let me actually go with him. Turns out if I stand still and keep a blank expression on my face, I can just walk past the Templars without incident. It's like having my own personal cloaking device!

Ok, ok… I really hate the brand, but I'm trying to find the silver lining. Makeup didn't hide it; just turned it pink. So I'm walking around with a flaming red sun on my forehead, and it pains me when Anders' expression crumples every time he sees it.

It took him a month, but Varric finally convinced me to give them the whole story of my stay at the Gallows over some drinks at the Hanged Man. Everyone was properly horrified, and even Fenris admitted that the treatment of mages I'd witnessed was akin to what he'd suffered as a slave. When I got to the part about seeing Bethany and Carver, Garrett had gone crimson with rage and stormed out to, I suppose, _have words_ with brother dearest.

I didn't tell them about what it was like to have the brand pressed into my skin. I only told Anders that, because I had to tell _someone_.

Looking back, I have to wonder if my experience in the Gallows somehow pushed him over the edge. At least he took me with him, this time.

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><p><strong>AN: **_All right, that's enough for one day. Whew. I don't even know how many chapters that was. I need to save some material for later! Hah. Hope you enjoyed my foray into the Gallows. :) _


	65. Chapter 65

**Wintermach, 9:35 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

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><p>Some days I forget the brand is there, and when people stare at me when I walk by, I rub at my face thinking I have dirt on it or something. And then Anders will take my hand and shake his head, and I'll remember.<p>

Knight-Commander Meredith issued a 'formal apology for rash action taken against me without due cause,' which I promptly set on fire and tossed in the trash. No amount of _oops, sorry about that_ is going to get this thing off my forehead. No one was really surprised that the apology didn't fix a damn thing; in fact, it only made the people _angrier _at the Templar Order. I find it best to just pretend it isn't there.

That always lasts until I bump into someone on the street or meet one of Anders' mage friends and they gape in horror, and then I sigh and fold my arms wanting to disappear. Now I know a little how Fenris feels, being stared at when he walks by.

Anders has been adorably protective since I came back from the Gallows, staying glued to my side like a mabari and taking any excuse to take my hand or pull me into random hugs in the middle of the street. He has also been confusingly celibate. Every time I kiss him or he kisses me, he pulls back and makes some excuse about a headache.

Isn't that _my_ job? I'm supposed to be the one with headaches! Hmph.

I have my suspicions as the origin of these 'headaches,' and I intend to test it the next time I'm alone with him.

But for now, me and my favorite abomination are waiting in the Hanged Man for Garrett to grace us with his Championly presence, and he is _driving me up the walls_ with his hand on my thigh.

For a self-prescribed Chantry brother, Anders is reaaallly testing my resolve. I swear, if that man touches me _one more time_ I am riding him to the ground in front of all these nice people. Varric has been watching us with this knowing smirk on his face, and I send him a withering glare which he puts up his hands and backs away from.

We all look up expectantly as the door opens, but it's just Sebastian and Aveline. Arguing. Again. About _me_.

Unsurprisingly, Sebastian is attempting to find some kind of reason for Meredith trying to make me Tranquil, and he's failing hilariously. Aveline, having been there and seen the chair I'd been strapped in, and gathered quite a few witness reports from shaken Templars and the mages who saw me walking by, is having none of it.

I listen to them yelling at each other for a moment before clearing my throat and silencing them. I turn my sweetest smile on Sebastian and flutter my lashes, ignoring Anders' fingers clenching on my leg. "Sebastian. May I call you Sebastian? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I _do_ have ears, and I don't really appreciate you trying to rationalize why Meredith pressed a lyrium-infused brand into my flesh."

"All I'm saying is I'm sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she thought it necessary," he began, and I flicked my eyes to Anders as his free hand clenched into a fist on the table. "Perhaps she thought you to be dangerous?"

I blink. "Perhaps you'd rather me walk around with a vacant expression and hawk my wares outside the Gallows?" I focus on nothing and pull my well-practiced 'Tranquil face' on, dropping my voice into a bland monotone. "The Knight-Commander tends to err on the side of caution. I was a regrettable casualty in what she believes to be a Holy War."

Anders shuddered and hunched his shoulders. "_Liz_… please don't talk like that."

I shook off the blank expression and smiled at him. "Sorry," I put an arm around him and fall into his shoulder, glaring at Sebastian, who looks a bit ill.

"I… if you'll excuse me," he stood and swiftly retreated, and Aveline huffed as she watched him go.

"Even _I_ can see the woman's crazy," Aveline grumbled, drumming armored fingers on the tabletop, and the others made various sounds of agreement.

"Sorry I'm late," Garrett announced as he swept into the room like a whirlwind, grinning. He did love to show off his new, specially commissioned armor with its clawed gauntlets and spiked pauldrons. "I got swarmed by nobles as soon as I stepped outside."

"You're just in time, Hawke," Varric smirked as he began to shuffle the cards. "We're about to watch Blondie lose at Wicked Grace again."

Anders groaned and rested his head in his hands. "You're going to bloody bankrupt me, Varric."

"You should have thought of that before you taught Liz how to play," Varric snorted.

Anders rolled his eyes and I scooted my chair closer to his when I got my hand, holding the cards in front of my face like a fan and peeking at him. He smirked at me and I felt his hand back on my leg and I bit my lip to stifle my gasp.

That _man_. I promised hasty retribution with my eyes and he just grinned and ignored me, looking back at his cards. I shifted my cards to the side and leaned over and let my breath ghost over his ear when I spoke.

"Don't start what you can't finish, love," I breathed, grinning when he stiffened and stared resolutely at his cards.

Don't play with fire unless you want to get _burned_, son.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_I glossed over the battle with the Arishok, because I could never write it correctly without just rehashing game events. I might go back and add a chapter about it later, but for now just assume that Garrett defeated the Arishok in a duel in order to save Isabela (who returned because she's awesome that way). I've got enough of a war to worry about writing without throwing the Qunari mess into it. _


	66. Chapter 66

**Guardian, 9:35 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Anders has very neat handwriting. I discovered this the first time I snatched a page of his manifesto when he wasn't looking and began to read it. I noticed two things right away.<p>

One. The man has some _very_ good arguments here. I'm already a supporter and reading this makes me want to slap the nearest Templar I see.

Two. The doodles in the margins are surprisingly detailed. It's just so adorable that he's drawn kittens and flaming Templars in almost every inch of free space on the page; I can't imagine Justice approves.

Anders has been gone all day doing Lord knows what, leaving me to sulk and handle the clinic in his absence—I'm amazed he's willing to leave me alone after what happened—and reassure the people that come in that _no_, I am _not_ Tranquil, and _yes_ I can still heal you.

I could answer these questions in my _sleep_.

I think my favorite part of the day was when a carta member came in—oh those pesky carta—and I just stared at him with my 'Tranquil face' and asked if he needed healing.

Ooooh the look on his _face!_ He stammered and ran out of the clinic faster than I could say 'Are you in need of aid?' It was great.

After the sun had gone down and I'd closed up, I went around the room trying to locate the rest of his manifesto so I could sneak this page back in. I was shuffling through a stack of promising papers when I heard the clinic door open.

"Welcome back," I called over my shoulder, smiling at the little picture of a huge cat eating a Templar in the corner of this page. "How was your—_oof!_"

I was pinned face-first against the wall before I knew what was happening, and I puffed out a breath in consternation as the pages fluttered to the floor. I turned my head so my cheek was pressed to the cold stone and inhaled as I felt lips close over the pulse in my neck. Well hello there.

"Nice to s-see you too," I breathed as I felt him press me into the wall, trapping me there. Not that I was complaining. This was one cage I wouldn't mind being caught in.

"**I missed you,**" the deep voice murmured moments before I felt him nip my ear.

Oh. _Oh_.

"Justice," I squeaked. Yes, I squeaked. Now that I knew what to look for, I could see the cracks on the hand braced beside my head and I couldn't help but wonder if Anders had any idea what his other half was doing. Probably not. "It's… been a while."

Smooth, Liz. Real smooth.

"**We reached an agreement,**" came the calm, collected response. I could feel his breath on my neck. Did Fade spirits breathe? This one did.

Wait.

An _agreement_? Oh sweet Lord.

"Oh?" I asked in a small voice, inhaling when his hands slid under my shirt. This was either incredibly wrong or amazingly wonderful. I settled on a little of both. "That's good." Remember how I'm chatty when I'm nervous? "I was getting tired of the chastity routine." I am very nervous. "I should stop talking now." Please do.

Justice _hmm_ed against my skin and I could feel the magic at his fingertips. Oh dear. "**You are nervous.**"

No shit, Justice.

"It's… different," I admit, not sure whether to groan or panic. I settled on a mewl. "Not… bad different. Just… d-different," I managed to stutter.

When Anders told me he'd warped Justice with his desires, this was the last thing on my mind.

The absolute last.

"**I tire of watching Anders take what is mine,**" he growled, and I went rigid in surprise, "**And you **_**are**_** mine.**"

_Shit_ake mushrooms what is he doing with his _hands_.

He spins me around and pins me to the wall by my shoulders and slants his mouth over mine and I completely lose the ability to stand under my own power.

There is a special place in hell for me. I just know it.

At least the company's nice.


	67. Chapter 67

**Guardian, 9:35 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>I cannot remember how we wound up on top of the desk in his back room. I can also not remember where my robe went, because it sure as hell isn't in <em>here<em>.

All I _can_ remember is the sensation of being caught in the undertow and dragged along for the ride. And what a ride it was. I open my eyes and find myself sprawled over Anders, and I wonder if the night is as much a blur for him as it was for me. Probably more so.

I can't help but wonder what on earth just happened. Are we in a love triangle now? I'm so confused, but Lord when can we do it _again_.

Anders is love. Gentle, careful, tender.

Justice is _lust_. Hard, rough, _desperate_.

I blink blearily as Anders stirs and stares at me in confusion, looking around and it's rather comical to see the dumbfounded expression on his face as he notices where we are and what we've been doing.

"Liz?" he asks, as if he's not sure if he's really awake. I know the feeling.

"Anders?"

"Why are we on the desk?"

I think it over, resting my head on his chest. "The bed was too far away?"

He's silent for a moment so I glance at his face. He has that special look in his eyes that hints he's having an internal conversation, so I wait patiently until he's finished. Then his eyes widen and a flush creeps up his cheeks, and I smile. "Oh."

"Oh," I agree.

He looks everywhere but at me, which is impressive considering I'm sprawled on top of him. "You… aren't upset?"

"Upset?" I parrot back to him. What was upsetting was being celibate for five months. "No." I trail my fingers up his arm. "I fell in love with _you_. All of you." I paused. "It was… flattering."

Flattering? Oy vey.

I squeak as he rolls and I find myself with my back to the wood. "I guess I have some competition now," Anders muses, grinning.

Oh I am in _so _much trouble.


	68. Chapter 68

**Drakonis, 9:35 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Isabela spews ale across the table as I nonchalantly mention my incident with Justice at the clinic a few weeks back, and she chokes and coughs for several moments before staring at me with wide eyes.<p>

"Andraste's great sanctified _ass_, kitten!" Isabela practically yells, flailing her arms. "When I asked about that I was _joking_!"

I shrug with a smile. "How about you? How's life with the _Champion?_"

Isabela grins and leans back in her seat, propping scantily-clad legs on the table. She opens her mouth to speak when the man himself appears, clearing his throat and trying to hide his blush behind a glare.

"Gossiping about me, are we?" he cocks a brow and I just blink innocently up at him, which he doesn't believe for an instant. "Come on. Some noble has a missing son or something and wants to talk to us."

I sigh. "Do I have to?"

Garrett just stares at me until I throw up my hands in defeat.

"Fine. Let me get Dawn from the barracks first, though. She probably misses me."

Garrett rolls his eyes. "I think Tigre's taken a fancy to her. Don't blame him though; she's… something."

I flutter my lashes at him. "Oh she's _precious_ and you know it, Gare."

"Sure. If you call being monstrously huge 'precious.'"

Oh what does he know. He's a man.


	69. Chapter 69

**Kingsway, 9:35 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>"You know, it would be easier to read that if you lit a candle or something."<p>

Anders sighed and rubbed his temples, resting his elbows on either side of the thick tome he'd been pouring over the past few months. I peer over his shoulder, but it's written in Arcanum, and my understanding of that tongue is practically nonexistent.

"You should take a break," I insist, eyeing the crawling runes. I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure the runes shouldn't _move_ when you tried to focus on them. What was he _reading_?

"I can't," he replies in his 'I have explained this before, you silly woman' voice. "I'm… searching for something."

Well that isn't ominous.

I huff and hop over to my bag of belongings I'd brought from my little house in Lowtown—Merrill all but moved in once I settled in Darktown—and dig out that _Arcane Warrior_ tome from the Deep Roads. I slap it on top of the book he had been reading and he jerks back in surprise, yelping.

"You promised you'd help me learn this," I tap the leather cover and smile at his frustrated grunt. I pull it open and make a sweeping gesture at the words. "See? It's even in Arcanum! Your favorite language _ever_."

He hesitated, looking conflicted. "I really need to keep looking, Liz…"

"What you _need_ to do is take a break. You aren't going to find what you're looking for if you fall over from exhaustion, are you?" When he doesn't reply, I snort in triumph. "Tell you what. If you teach me Arcanum, I can help you look." He stares at me as if I'd just suggested I hacking off my own leg and beating him with it for kicks and giggles. "You have to let me in, love. You promised you wouldn't keep me in the dark."

Anders sighs, resigned, and leans back in his little chair. "Fine," he grouses, "you're a bloody slave-driver, you know that?"

"Shh. Don't tell Fenris."


	70. Chapter 70

**Harvestmere, 9:35 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Turns out Arcanum is a lot harder to read than it looks. And it also turns out Fenris has some <em>very<em> colorful expletives that I'd really rather not be able to understand. I sort of understand why Anders always looks so shocked when the elf opens his mouth now.

BUT! This 'Arcane Warrior' thing sounds incredibly interesting. Mages with swords and shields? Oh yes. I've been tagging along with Dawn when she spends time at the Barracks and watching Aveline train the recruits. It looks difficult, but the spells sound like they'll help me have the strength to actually _lift_ the weapons I'm meant to fight with. So that's a plus.

Oh, by the way. Dawn is enormous now. Garrett says it's her mixed blood making her that size, but her head almost reaches my chest now. I sure hope she doesn't get much bigger or I'll be able to ride her around like a horse. She also eats like a Warden. It's hilarious and a little alarming.

Aveline tried to teach me some defensive stances with a shield, but I couldn't even lift the thing off the ground, much to the amusement of the recruits. She got me a wooden practice shield, which was still heavy, but I did learn how to stand correctly. Who knew posturing was so important to wielding a shield? Not me.

Currently, I'm pouring over the tome while Anders hides in his little corner with his own little book of suspicious dancing runes. I can almost read all of it now—Anders is an excellent teacher, one of the few good things he has to say about the Circle—but the speech patterns are just so different it's almost funny.

'_Raiseth yon blade and invoke the Memorandum on Twilight's Eve'_ and such nonsense.

Turns out there's more to this than just learning some spells. There's a whole chapter devoted to the 'Memorandum,' which as far as I can tell is some kind of incantation which will contact a spirit or something. I'm a little nervous about that, but Anders assures me that even if I didn't have a nonexistent connection to the Fade, I'd have to physically agree to a deal before I could get possessed.

"Anders?" I call as I stare at something I can't _possibly_ be reading correctly.

"Mmm."

I glance up and he's still hunched over that tome of his. I wiggle off my boot and chuck it at him to get his attention, and he yelps in surprise. "Now that I have your attention, come here."

He obliges me, still rubbing his shoulder where my well-placed shoe connected, and glances down at the page I'd been reading.

"This isn't what it looks like, is it?"

Anders stares at it for a while. "Depends. Does it look like a memory spell? Because it is."

I blink. I knew Memorandum sounded suspicious, but I hadn't expected it would be a _literal_ memory thing. "So what does that mean?"

"Looks like to learn the spells you have to be taught them, you can't just read it off paper." Anders furrows his brow. "The Warden Commander said something about this. She found a phylactery in a Brecilian ruin which taught her how to be an Arcane Warrior. This must be something similar, only in book form."

What was it doing in the Deep Roads, then? Ugh.

"Fine. But if this turns me into a gibbering mess I'm blaming you."

Anders smirked and pulled on my ear as he walked back to his desk. "You'll be _my_ gibbering mess, at least."

I can't help the shiver, and I'm sure he notices, but he doesn't comment. He's been saying little things like that a lot lately, ever since Justice's… _episode_… and I don't even know if he knows he's doing it.

But then he's back at his desk staring at that damn book and I have to wonder if it had even happened at all.


	71. Ch 71: Intermission

_**Intermission**_

* * *

><p>Mmm… an intermission in my own journal. What is the world coming to? I've been reading over what I've managed to keep out of Isabela and Varric's hands, and I've decided to take a little break for a minute before the really heavy stuff happens.<p>

I don't remember much of note happening in 9:35 or 9:36 Dragon other than me learning Arcanum (which I covered) or Fenris learning that I learned Arcanum and apologizing for an hour about using language like that in front of 'a lady.'

I don't know what lady _he_ was talking about, but I accepted it anyway, because it's _Fenris_ and I'd have thought Orsino and Meredith would declare their undying love for each other in the Hightown market before Fenris apologizes to a mage for anything.

Meredith. I hate that woman. And not just because she kidnapped me and gave me a neat little mark on my forehead, either. For reasons unknown to me, the woman had insinuated herself into the Viscount's seat and we all know how well _that_ turned out.

Anyway, I should probably stop rambling and get the rest on paper before it too fades away. I'm glad I started writing when I did; I can hardly remember anything from my first few days in Thedas now, and I barely remember a thing from Before.

Gah. I rambled some more.

I need to work on that.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_An Intermission? Elizabeth, what are you thinking! I know I tend to say 'oh I'm taking a break, might be a while before a new chapter gets up' every couple of chapters, and then immediately start posting ten others a few minutes later, but I'm juggling a bunch of stories right now (most of which are too incomplete or too lame to begin putting up on ) so I'll probably write myself into a coma and then put up the 9:37 years in a bit._

_Thanks for bearing with me and my rants; hope I can continue to please and keep my timeline straight-I was never good at continuity. Maker bless!_


	72. Chapter 72

**Cloudreach, 9:37 Dragon **

**The Bone Pit**

* * *

><p>I stood staring at the massive corpse for at least five minutes before reality set in.<p>

We'd just killed a High Dragon.

We'd just _killed_ a _High Dragon_!

Holy shit.

Ok technically Fenris killed it, but we helped! We weren't really in the best group set-up to handle a fight like this—me, Anders, Garrett, and Fenris—but we still killed it! I watch with a mixture of amusement and revulsion as Fenris and Garrett search the dragon for… whatever it is they search dragon corpses for, and come away with… is that a sword?

I stopped trying to figure out the peculiarities of animals carrying weapons a looong time ago. Once you find a necklace wrapped around the mandible of a giant spider or a ring on one of its many legs, you stop trying to puzzle through the sense of the thing.

Anders taps me on the shoulder and I can tell from the look in his eyes that it's now or never. We skirt away while Garrett and Fenris start hacking at the body for a fire gland—or something equally gross—and scramble up the path with all the inherent grace of a pair of jumpy mages towards one of the caves he'd pointed out when we arrived.

It had taken me a month to convince him to bring me along. Being able to read that book of his was helpful, too, as was reminding him that if he didn't come to _me_ he'd have to go to _Garrett_.

'_I can tell him it's a potion to separate Justice and I,'_ he'd tried, shrugging.

You'd be separated, all right... into tiny little bite-sized Anders _pieces_. You do know what drakestone is _for_, yes?

Silly man.

As we duck into the cave and Anders begins searching for the deposits we came for, I hang back by the entrance and fidget.

Anders has never been good at keeping secrets from me, but this is one time where he manages it. I know what the components come together to make; what I _don't_ know is his target. I did _read_ his tome, after all. But I've also noticed how little the man I speak with is actually Anders. Justice has been getting better at hiding the signs when he comes out, and often when I stumble on him writing in his clinic, I just _know_ that it's not Anders I'm looking at.

Hopefully whenever he's made what it is he's making, Justice will go back into his little hole and give me back the man I love.

I hear him clear his throat and turn, spotting the bag slung over one shoulder, and I smile encouragingly. A pained look flashes across his face so briefly I almost don't catch it, and then he nods back and we're walking down the path towards what's left of the dragon. I blink at the sight of Garrett covered with gore and holding what looks like a red organ aloft in his hands, cheering in triumph.

Fenris looks about as ill as I feel, and I stutter to a halt, wide-eyed.

Garrett turns to us with a grin and holds the… thing… before us. "Look! I found the fire gland Solivitus wanted!"

Anders blinked and took a careful step backwards. "You are _far_ too excited about being covered in dragon guts."

Garrett gives us an indignant look and puts one hand on his hip, holding the gland aloft with the other. "I'll have you know I went nowhere _near_ its guts, thank you very much. The gland was at the back of its head."

"Just… rinse all that off before we get back to Kirkwall and the guard think you murdered someone."

Garrett grumbles and stalks past us, and I can't help but smile when I hear him mumbling "Spoilsport."


	73. Chapter 73

**Bloomingtide, 9:37 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Sebastian really likes the sound of his own voice.<p>

I guess it was fortunate he's taken to hovering around Grand Cleric Elthina since the incident a few years back, as it saved me from trying to make conversation. All I had to do was smile and nod. Smile and nod.

'_Distract the Grand Cleric,'_ he'd said. _'It'll only take me a minute,'_ he'd said. Yeah. Right.

I'd pestered him about his secrecy all the way from Darktown, and the only straight answer I'd gotten out of him was that he was 'planting a signal' for the Underground. He was planning something big, and he had to have an awful lot of faith in his plan if he was willing to risk going into the Chantry again.

Even if it meant leaving me to the mercy of Sebastian and the Grand Cleric as they attempted to convert me. I really shouldn't have tried to explain Messianic Judaism to them. Or Christianity. Or God.

He'd suggested talking about the plight of mages. I'd picked the theological differences between the Church and the Chantry. I sure know how to pick 'em, huh?

He'd have time to plant a _bomb_ in the time it's taking me to extricate myself from this conversation.

Wait.

He'd… oh.

Oh _shit_.

'Signal to the Underground' my ass. Well, don't I feel intelligent. Suddenly getting out of the Chantry seems like an excellent idea, but I'd promised to wait for him.

"No, Sebastian," I continue, irritated now more at myself than him, "I do not think it's the Maker's will that everyone who doesn't believe in Him needs to be forcibly converted. I've been down that road, in case you've forgotten," I point at the brand on my forehead, and he lowers his eyes to the floor.

I spot Anders hovering by the door, looking antsy, and I jump at the chance to escape, making some vague excuse about having to go meet Garrett at the Hanged Man and making a promise (that I won't keep) about thinking on what they've said.

When I reach him, he takes my hand and all but pulls me out of the Chantry.

"So," I start conversationally as we head back to Darktown. "Do you think they'll see your signal? Or should we do something a little flashier?" Say… an explosion?

He pauses, briefly, but enough for me to feel it, and I wonder what he'll come up with to distract me from the topic. "They'll see it," he insists, continuing his walk. I glance at the conflicting expressions warring on his face and know I'm talking to Anders. "They'll see it from every corner of Thedas."

"Sebastian tried to convert me," I blurt out, not liking the pain on his face, and it does its job of distracting him and making him laugh. "You owe me big for listening to that."

He stops and presses his hand to my jaw, looking like a man walking to his death. "I know. Thank you."

"Thank me when this is all over," I insist with a smile. He smiles back, but it's tired and suddenly I'm amazed he's even standing upright. When was the last time he slept? "Come on. I'll make you some of that gruel you love so much. I might even add some rat-flavored whiskey from the Hanged Man."

He brightens at the prospect of food and I smile, pushing down the need to cry, to confront him, to tell him there has to be another way.

Because there isn't. Not for him.

Not for Justice.


	74. Chapter 74

**Justinian, 9:37 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>He's not actually considering this, is he?<p>

"Hawke…?" Anders asks cautiously, and I can't help but agree with him. "You aren't… going to do it, are you?"

Garrett runs a hand through his hair and sighs, looking about as irritated as we feel. "I don't have a _choice_. No offense Anders, but you haven't exactly been the pinnacle of subtlety; she knows you live here, and she made a point to mention how you stay free only because of your friendship with me. If I… refuse… she'll take it as an action against Kirkwall and get us all thrown in the Gallows."

I blink and stare at the floor. He could have just done as she asked and never told us; we'd never have thought in a million years that he'd be hunting down apostates for the Knight-Commander. So why tell _us_: the Grey Warden abomination hell-bent on freeing mages from the Circles and his abnormal mage lover?

"Well…" I begin, slowly, "If they _are_ blood mages, they'll need to be stopped. And if they're not, better you find them than the Templars, right?"

"Exactly," Garrett grins, glad one of us seemed to possess a modicum of common sense, "I came down to ask for your help in locating one of the 'blood mages,' a woman named Evelina."

Evelina? One of Anders' friends from the Underground? I trade a glance with him and the worry in his eyes is not comforting. Garrett raises a brow and folds his arms.

"I take it from your suspicious glancing that you know her?"

"Er," Anders starts, uncertain, "yes. But she's been missing for the past week or so; we thought she'd fled the city."

Garrett sighed. "I hope she has, for her sake. You have any idea where she might be?"

"She took in orphans," I chime in, ignoring Anders' hard look, "Find Walter or Cricket; they were as close as her real children."

Garrett thanked me and trotted out, leaving me to face Anders' incredulous stare on my own. "Why did you tell him that? What if she's just trying to hide?"

"Then Garrett will find her and leave her alone. The man's not _insane_, Anders. It's not like I just sent the Knight-Captain after her." I put my hands on my hips and raise a brow. "You have very little faith in your friends."

He sighs and leans back against one of the bloodied cots. "I have plenty of faith in my friends. I just don't have faith in their reasoning. What if she _did_ turn to blood magic? To protect Walter or her children? Will we condemn her to the Circle to be made Tranquil just for defending her family?"

I blink. "We're advocating blood magic now?"

"What? No." Anders rubbed a hand over his face. "I… don't know. It's… hard to focus nowadays."

I reach over and take his hand, rubbing his wrist with my thumb, and I smile up at him. "You're not alone, Anders. And I don't just mean because you've got a voice in your head. Stop trying to do everything on your own; let me _help you_."

"You're right, of course. Sometimes it just… gets hard to remember what I'm fighting for."

"Freedom is always a good place to start," I grin, and he smiles back.

"That it is. Come on, if I keep sulking like this I'm going to turn into _Fenris_, and that is one man we do not need duplicates of."

Hmm. Now I'm imagining a room full of Fenrises, all brooding and frowning and scowling at each other and trying to out-angst one another with their puppy eyes.

I'm sure I looked insane, but there was no stopping my laugh, and he couldn't help but laugh with me.

Fenris: unintentionally relieving tension since 9:31 Dragon.


	75. Chapter 75

**Solace, 9:37 Dragon **

**The Wounded Coast**

* * *

><p>This just isn't my day.<p>

It started out nice enough. I'd awoken wrapped in Anders' arms, which has become a rarity considering Justice doesn't let him sleep, and that in itself had brought a smile to my face. Then we'd gotten up and made health potions and poultices while I threw things at his head like an infant and he froze the ground I tried to walk on so that I would slide into him.

You know. Juvenile things.

Then Garrett had come by and stolen Anders away for something to do with Fenris and the Hanged Man, and left me to my own devices. That hadn't been too bad.

And then I'd felt the _crawl_ across my skin and I recognized it for what it was a moment too late.

Blood magic.

I couldn't move, frozen in place, as the strangest group of people came into the clinic. Templars and mages, _together_, with that nice man Ser Thrask leading them. Thrask put a blindfold over my eyes—I still hate the dark—and patted me on the shoulder.

Ooooh don't _patronize _me.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry," Thrask murmured, and I just mentally rolled my eyes as the sounds of the world fell away.

When I next became aware that time had passed, I could hear the crash of waves against a cliff and felt the breezes that simply don't reach into Darktown, and I wanted very badly to test out the Arcanum curses Fenris had inadvertently taught me. I could hear my captors talking amongst themselves, but I couldn't so much as twitch a finger in my own defense, so I just lay there on the sand and listened.

Apparently this was all a lure to attract Garrett for being a Templar supporter.

Really? He's a _mage_ you damn idiots. Why the hell would he support that bitch Meredith?

Hmph. If they _really_ wanted to get his attention they should have taken Isabela. The only thing they were liable to attract by kidnapping _me_ is a first-hand account of how utterly pissed Anders is going to be when he gets back to the clinic and finds me gone.

I sure hope he doesn't do anything stupid without at least telling Garrett first. I really don't need a repeat of the Chantry incident.

Hm. You know… sand really isn't as comfortable as it looks. It's very itchy, and rough, and it's just adding insult to injury that I've got a rock pressing into my back. I have no way to count the hours, so I entertain myself by reciting poetry and humming tuneless melodies in my head.

_Hum de doo dum… hummmm de doo…_

_Hum._

Yeah that got old really fast.

Oh I know! I'll count to one hundred. In _Spanish!_ All right, let's see… uno… dos… tres…

Cua—

"Let her go!" Oh that sweet, sweet voice. Garrett how I've missed you.

Hm. I was half expecting to hear Justice having a panic attack. This is an improvement.

Oh dear, I can't hear anything anymore. But I can feel the vibrations in the sand and _oh dear Lord_ are they fighting _over_ me? Literally? That doesn't seem safe.

…

Cuatro… cinco… seis…

Someone's touching my arm. Oh I hope it's one of my friends and not a creepy blood mage. Their fingers tingle oddly, like when I cast a spell.

Fenris? Why is _Fenris_ touching me?

Oh dear. Someone's picking me up now. Please tell me someone in this group has the foresight to remove this damn blindfold before they haul me away.

I can see! Oh Varric you are so intelligent I just want to kiss you.

Yes, yes it was Fenris touching me. It is also Fenris holding me. This is bizarre and not altogether wanted or appreciated. No one should be touching me except my Anders. I can see their lips moving but I can't hear anything, and it is supremely frustrating.

Well, that's not completely true.

I hear a _crack_ and suddenly Fenris is all glowy and I can see Varric looking nervous and Garrett is yelling something and then I see _him_.

Oh Justice is _not_ happy.

I can move my eyes a little now, and I glimpse a slew of carnage much like what I'd seen in the sewers. None of them survived. Hm. This is probably why they're unable to undo the spell.

Fenris takes a step back to match Justice's step forward and I really wish I could talk and tell him that is a Bad Idea. Why are they being so unreasonable? Anders is the only one I'd _want_ carrying me in the first place. Just because his other half is currently out to play doesn't change this.

I'm watching Justice's lips now, and I can read quite clearly what it is he's saying that has everyone backing up from him.

_She is mine_.

This is not the best time for your possessive side to be coming out, Justice.

I _need_ to be able to speak, to diffuse this before Justice begins to assume Garrett and Fenris are trying to kidnap me again and this turns into a firefight.

If I concentrate and focus all my willpower on moving my fingers… there. I can twitch my fingers now. With a mental _oomph_ I manage to swing one of my arms free so it dangles almost to the ground, and I feel Fenris tense at my movement. It's like wading through water with a ton of bricks tied to my arm, but I manage to life my hand towards Anders and immediately I feel his Fade-cracked hand take mine and I drop all attempts at movement in relief.

It's like moving in slow-motion, but I can feel Justice pull me from Fenris and into his own arms, and if I had control of my body I would slump in relief. I only feel _safe_ with Anders. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would fight to the death to protect me; I can't say that about the others, however pure their intentions.

As soon as I'm lifted in his arms, I can see the cracks fade away and Anders is left in their place, staring at me with worried amber eyes and I try to smile for him and feel my lip twitch in reply. It's wearing off, but _slowly_.

_I'm sorry_, his lips say.

Well it's not your fault, Anders. If anything, blame Garrett for not taking me along.

Garrett hands Anders something—oh dear please don't let that be a lyrium potion—and lo and behold… a lyrium potion. They weren't there in the Gallows when Meredith tried to get me drink one of those.

Ugh. I am not looking forward to this.

It tastes like metal. Which makes sense, since lyrium is a type of rock. It's like… tangy metal with a buzz.

I can't help but wonder if it's actually safe to drink this stuff before I'm suddenly in _agony_.

It's like the Rite all over again, only _everywhere_, and I arch into Anders' touch and my throat feels like it's screaming even though I hear only silence. The world is suddenly too bright, _too bright_, and I can't see anything except for the corona of white that eclipses my vision. I feel my magic return in a crack of power and I can feel it racing over my fingers, my arms, my legs, and I can only hope I'm not electrocuting Anders before I go limp and the world goes dark.


	76. Chapter 76

**Solace, 9:37 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Lyrium. I really, <em>really<em>, hate lyrium.

My head feels like it was trampled by a herd of elephants and then twisted back onto my neck for further use. Oh, I also have a bruise on my back from that damn rock, I can feel it.

Good news is I can hear again! Garrett is arguing with someone in another room and it takes me a second to register that I'm not at the clinic or my Lowtown home. Garrett's estate, maybe?

Bad news is I still can't move. That's probably due more to the fact that my wrists and ankles are strapped to the edges of the bed than any residual magic, though.

I roll my head to the side and see a bandage on my arm, which is odd because I don't remember getting hurt there, and I spot a dozing Merrill in a chair nearby.

"…Merrill?" I croak. She jerks awake and beams at me.

"You're awake! Well, of course you're awake otherwise you wouldn't be talking to me. Oh how are you feeling? Are you thirsty? Anders told me to make sure you got lots of water before you tried to talk. So don't talk, okay?"

I just nod at her and she buzzes around and brings a glass of water to my lips and it is _the best thing_ I have ever drunk in my entire life. When my throat stops feeling like I swallowed shards of glass, I attempt to speak again. "What happened?"

"You were under a spell." No. _Way_. "It could only be broken by blood magic, so I got to help!"

That explains my handy dandy wound on my arm. Oh, Merrill… "Lyrium?"

"Hm? Oh you shouldn't drink that anymore. Anders said you… um… _ruptured the Veil_ and gave him quite a shock to boot. It did help though, although I wouldn't recommend drinking it again."

No complaints there.

"Where's everybody?"

"They're getting yelled at by Hawke," Merrill blinks innocently, and as if to accentuate her point, Garrett's voice rises into _I Am Supremely Pissed_ mode. "Anders and Fenris are getting a stern talking-to."

Together? Well that's a recipe for disaster. "Could you untie me?"

"Oh!" Merrill jumps up and begins fiddling with the bindings. "You were thrashing around, so we had to bind you. So sorry!"

"That's all right, Merrill." I swung my legs over the edge and sat for a moment. "Could you help me up? I need to go make sure Garrett doesn't kill my man."

Merrill giggled but obliged, wrapping one of my arms around her thin shoulders and helping me hobble toward the door. I push it open with my foot in time to catch the tail-end of Garrett's rant.

"…could have gotten her killed! Liz is like a sister to me, and damn it I won't let your sodding pride put her at risk _ever again_. Am I understood?"

I blink, leaning half on Merrill and half on my leg. "Whose pride?"

All three men turned to stare at me and I felt supremely self-conscious. Anders jumped up but Garrett pushed him back down with a blast of force magic and I paused. Garrett must be seriously ticked off to use magic in his house like that, and against _Anders_ of all people.

"I'm not finished," Garrett growled, and I sighed and left Merrill at the door as I hobbled by him.

Ignoring Garrett's glare, I stumble drunkenly across the room and fall on top of Anders in his chair, wriggling around until I'm comfortable, and he's smiling at me by the time I lean against his shoulder, slumping. I wave a hand imperiously for Garrett to continue.

"_Anyway_," he grumbles, annoyed that I dared to intrude on his secret man meeting, "Fenris, I'd love to hear your reasoning on how baiting Justice while Liz was practically _comatose_ was a good idea."

I glance over at him, and Fenris just glares at the floor, brow furrowed.

"And _Anders_, you need to keep your damn demon in chec—"

I feel Anders tense beneath me and I see his skin crack with Justice's ire, and I snap my glare to Garrett before he has a chance to speak.

"He is a _spirit_."

Garrett blinks, as if he'd forgotten I was there, and Anders calms at my back. "Liz—"

"Don't _Liz_ me, Gare. Don't expect me to sit here quietly while you insult the man I love."

"You didn't hear him, Liz," Garrett insisted, as if I were an idiot for arguing with him in the first place, "You didn't hear what he _called_ you."

"What? 'Mine?'" I snort as he paused. "I _am_ his, Garrett." I felt Anders' arms slide around my waist at that. "And _he_ is mine. Now please apologize to Fenris and Anders for yelling nonsense at them so I can take my man and go to bed. I've had a long day."


	77. Chapter 77

**August, 9:37 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Darktown smells like feet today. Random, I know, but considering I haven't left the clinic in at least a week, I'm really out of things to do other than identify the various sewer aromas. Garrett's being a stubborn ass and not coming to visit us, but I don't entirely blame him. I <em>did<em> storm out of his estate hauling Anders along by the hand like a petulant child.

I've been playing fetch with this crumpled piece of paper for an hour, at least, and even Dawn is starting to get tired of it. I would sneak out and go to the Hanged Man, but Anders would have a panic attack if he woke up and found me missing again. I collapse against the wall, Dawn flopping into my lap with a huff, and I wheeze for breath beneath her bulk. She's an awfully big girl.

She's felt terrible since I came back from the estate, and I can't convince her to return to the barracks without me at her side, now. Stubborn, precious mabari.

I cock my head at her as I rub her ears. "What do _you_ think Darktown smells like?"

Dawn rolls an eye towards me before slowly and deliberately licking my foot, and I giggle and try to pull my toes under my other leg.

"I thought so too."

Hmm. I glance back at the room where Anders was passed out face-down on his cot and debate waking him up. I didn't really care what we did or where we went, but sitting here getting my foot licked was only going to entertain me for a few more minutes at _most_.

If I leaned forward a bit I could see his figure sprawled over the little cot, an arm and leg dangling off the sides, and I bit back a smile, hefting my paper wad in one hand. I narrowed one eye and took aim, chucking it through the air and giving it a little push with force magic when it looked about to fall short.

It thumped into his head and Anders jerked awake, rolling off the cot with a yelp, and I struggled not to laugh and looked innocently at Dawn. The wad smacked into the back of my head moments later and I chuckled as Anders walked in and glared down at me through one eye.

"Having fun, are we?"

"Not really," I admitted as he slid down the wall to sit beside me. "Identifying the various odors of Darktown can only get you so far in terms of entertainment. We've decided today it smells like feet."

Anders made a noncommittal sound and I glance over at him, immediately concerned. Despite the fact that I'd managed to get him in bed, he still looks about ready to keel over at any minute. The dark rings under his eyes are more pronounced than they've ever been, and his skin is paler than _mine_ and that is not a Good Thing.

"Anders?" I ask quietly, taking his hand in mine, "Are you all right?"

"No," he answered truthfully before glancing back at me with a trace of his usual smile. "But I will be. It'll all be over, soon, and…" he trailed off uncertainly, looking down at Dawn, who cocked her head, "…justice will be served."

Well I don't much like the sound of _that_.

"I need to thank you, Liz," Anders said so softly I almost didn't hear him, "for everything. You were there for me even when I tried to push you away; I hold no illusions that I would have made it this far without you holding me up."

"You don't have to thank me," I insist, struggling for light-hearted but coming off sounding worried, "We're in this _together_."

He gives me the smile he usually reserves for telling children that _everything will be all right_ even when it won't. "Just know that whatever happens, I'll always love you."

I clutch his hand tighter and stare at the far wall, not able to look at him. He wasn't saying anything he hadn't said before but…

…now it sounded like saying _goodbye_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Oh _drama_... whatever shall I do with you?_


	78. Chapter 78

**Kingsway, 9:37 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>You can do this, Liz. Just walk up to her and tell her. It's easy!<p>

_Oi, you might want to consider an early retirement. I hear Orlais is nice this time of year._

_Vacations. You should take one. Now._

_I have it on good authority that the Maker was spotted in Antiva. You should go check that out._

_Hey, you know what's cool? Explosions! You should step outside with me and watch them. From far, far away._

Hmm. Maybe this will be harder than I thought. I've been pacing at the foot of the steps for a few minutes now, and some of the sisters are giving me strange looks. Ok. Now or never, Liz. You can do this.

I take the stairs three at a time until I reach the little podium where the Grand Cleric is chatting with Sebastian. Again. Does that man ever _move_?

"Grand Cleric?" I ask, fidgeting, as she turns to me with her normal guarded smile.

"Child. You look troubled."

Troubled? Yes, you could say that. All right, be suave, be calm, be _convincing_.

"There are apostates plotting something against the Chantry," I blurt out intelligently. Elthina just raises her hands and lifts her gaze skywards.

"And the sky is blue, and the rains come in the spring."

I blink. Did she just…

Elthina shakes her head. "There are always apostates threatening the sanctity of the Chantry, dear. That does not mean we must always act on them."

I think I'm gaping at her. Hrm. Excuse me, Grand Cleric, but could you stop being _retarded_ and listen to me for a minute? Thanks. "But Grand Cleric—"

"I can not turn on my Templars, on the very words of Andraste for fear. No matter how justified that fear might be."

She's being bloody unreasonable. "I'm not asking you to 'turn on the Templars.' I'm asking you to have some common sense and get the hell out of Dodge."

I don't think she's even listening to me anymore, having turned back to her copy of the Chant spread before her.

All right then. Time to play dirty.

I grab Sebastian's arm and pull him off to the side, ignoring his spluttering, and fix him with a hard look. "You need to get her out of Kirkwall."

"What—"

"You said she would be lucky if you were willing to hit her over the head and carry her away. Well, it's time to listen to the Divine and get her out of here. Can you do that?"

"I can't just _kidnap_ the Grand Cleric," Sebastian insisted, wide-eyed.

"You bloody well better," I snap. "It's about to get real dangerous real fast, and if she stays here she is going to _die_. If you love her, you'll get her out of here even if you have to drug her to do it."

"But…"

"Sebastian!" I stomp my foot. "Listen to what I am telling you! I'm leaving this in your hands; if you don't get her out of here, and she gets hurt, it's on _your_ head. Do you understand me?"

"I think all your time in Darktown has gone to your head," Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "I appreciate your warning, Liz, but Elthina has a responsibility to the people of this city. If I took her away from that, I would be going against everything she stands for."

I sigh, shaking my head. Why does no one in this bloody city listen to me until it's too damn late? "Fine. I tried. I warned you and you brushed me off. If Elthina wants to be a damn martyr, that's her choice, but just remember that I _warned you_ about this and you _ignored me_. Now excuse me while I try and talk some sense into someone who'll _listen_."

I whirl on my heel and storm away, heading for the nearest cluster of sisters and priests.

Maybe _someone_ in this place will listen to reason.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Elthina always irritated me. I mean, you go there to warn her, and she brushes you off with a smile and a nod. Stupid Chantry..._


	79. Chapter 79

**Kingsway, 9:37 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>Andrastians are idiots.<p>

All of them.

_Idiots_.

I spent all damn _day_ trying to convince those people to take a little vacation, and they all said the same damn thing.

"_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade_

_For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."_

-Trials 1:14

I don't want a damn history lesson on the damn Chant. Argh…

Well. I tried. I warned them, I really did. Maybe I can still convince Sebastian to get Elthina out of Kirkwall…

* * *

><p>Anders glanced up from the potions he was mixing as I trudged in, looking gloomy and irritated.<p>

"Where've you been, love?"

"The Chantry," I replied immediately, making him choke.

"The Cha—what were you doing _there_?"

I sigh. "Marveling at the inherent stupidity of the clergy." That wrung a smile out of him. "Have many patients today?"

"Not too many. There was a collapse at the Bone Pit, but beyond that it's been pretty quiet."

Oh the Bone Pit… will that death trap _ever_ be safe for the miners?

"You shouldn't be going out alone," he scolds me, and I can't help but smile, which only makes me scowl. "I'm serious. The Knight-Commander's been cracking down lately. I… don't want her getting her hands on you again."

I want to ask him _What _else_ could they possibly do to me?_ but he's told me enough stories for me to know better. "All right. I won't go out alone if you won't."

He smiles a little sadly and goes back to making his potions with practiced hands. I almost don't hear him when he speaks. "I'm never alone."

I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder. "And you'll never have to be."


	80. Chapter 80

**Kingsway, 9:37 Dragon **

**Kirkwall**

* * *

><p>The city was burning.<p>

Again.

Only this time there were no enraged Qunari, no murdered Viscounts, no insane duels to the death with the Arishok.

There was only screaming and the flood of people attempting to flee a city at war.

I kept my grip like iron on Anders' hand as we weaved through the throng with no set destination but _away_, fighting back the shudder at his dead eyes or the accusing glares of my companions, and together we ran. We wouldn't go far; I knew Anders too well to expect he would not wish to aid Garrett even now, after what we had done.

I say _we_ because I could have stopped it. I could have worked harder, tried harder, found another way. I could have gone to Varric about this. I knew what would happen, what had already been done, and I stood by and watched the world around us crumble. Someone shoved into my shoulder but I just turned away and kept running, circling around the city with my love in tow, praying to God (does God hear my prayers in Thedas, I wonder?) that we wouldn't be too late, that we can still _fix this_.

I still remember that moment when conjecture and tenuous hope became fact. Reality.

We had stood, ever-present observers to Garrett's diplomacy, and Anders had stepped out of my grasp with a single glance back at me, eyes alight with Justice's flame and absent of any emotion I had ever seen in him before.

He had spoken only two words to me as he slammed the end of his staff onto the ground, cracking the pavement and sundering the very world. _"Forgive me."_

It had been _his_ voice, _his_ tears, but Justice's face. Justice's body. Justice's betrayal.

"_There can be no compromise."_

The air had stilled, magic arcing through the air above the Chantry, as all eyes were locked on something I could only have ever _dreamed_ of, in an action worthy of having an Age named after it.

The Chantry. Torn _apart_. Shredded, demolished from within, siphoned into the very Fade as magic as red as blood scattered the remains to the winds in a signal that would indeed be felt from every corner of Thedas.

I had known it would happen. I had _been_ there. I had _warned_ them. Yet… knowing something will occur and then actually _seeing it_…

All eyes had turned to Anders, who kept his gaze locked on the raining debris of the Maker's House, shaking, silent tears tracing tracks through the dirt on his face. His staff clattered to the ground from limp fingers, and there was not a single gaze facing him that held even a trace of compassion.

I stepped forward to rest at his side, twining my fingers through his, and raised my gaze to my companions, _daring_ them to try and take him from me. Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but I silenced him with my stare.

"_I had warned you. I warned you and you did _nothing_. You are as guilty as I, Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven. Her blood is on _your_ hands, not mine."_

I had taken Anders' hand and I had tugged him away from the stares, from the accusations, from the disbelief, the _horror_, and not looked back.

His face was cold, closed, _dead_.

I may have worn the Brand, but it was _he_ who was lost.

Now, as we approach the Gallows, and I watch the fire and lightning arcing up into the air from the depths of the hated prison, life returns to his eyes and he turns to stare at me.

"I knew you'd want to help them," I say, struggling to keep the tremor from my voice as I squeeze his hand.

Very softly, almost afraid, I can feel his fingers squeeze mine back, as if he can't believe I'm willingly touching him. "I… yes."

There's no time for apologies, for guilt. I raise our joined hands and call ice to our fingers, and together we walk, hand-in-hand, across the deceptive calm of the Sea towards fate.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_I always listen to music when I write, but this chapter needed to be 'serious,' so my usual blend of Weird Al and Nickelback wouldn't cut it. I used "Mind's Refuge" by Trancecrafter (he makes really great music) and it seemed appropriate. _

_Chapter 80, and more than 90 reviews... When I first started writing this, I thought "Heh, this should be good for a laugh or two." I had no idea it would get this long or this much attention, and I want to thank all of you for sticking with it and giving me such great encouragement. Before you ask, no this is not the end, but we're getting there and I figured if there was ever a time to do a lengthy AN, it would be at the climax (aka, here). _

_In case you haven't noticed (I hope you didn't), I don't ever have a set plan on where the story is going to go. I always believed a good story would write itself, and I hope that's what this one has been doing and not just wandering around in circles going 'herp.' _

_So, as always, much love to all of you and Maker bless!_


	81. Ch 81: Birds of a Feather

**Lesson Number Fourteen:**

**_Birds of a Feather Flock Together_**

_(On Running)_

* * *

><p>In the end, it had been Aveline to allow Anders and I to help in the final battle. Garrett had, understandably, not been thrilled when we popped out into the Gallows to offer our services.<p>

Well, _I_ had popped out to offer our services. Anders had hidden behind me, fingers tangled with mine. He hadn't let go since we'd stepped off the ice and onto the docks, and I had no intention of letting him do so.

"_We need healers, Hawke,"_ had been Aveline's impassioned plea.

And it had been true. Garrett could heal if the injury wasn't too bad, and if he had about ten minutes of uninterrupted concentration, but _Anders_ was a triage healer, a combat healer. He could do things with Creation and Spirit Healing that I couldn't have even dreamed possible. That didn't mean he had to be happy about it, and he refused to meet my eyes, instead contenting himself with glaring daggers at Anders and storming off, forcing us to follow or be left behind.

No one spoke to us except Merrill, who was too innocent to truly understand why everyone else hated us, and Isabela who gave me a pat on the back and a significant look of understanding towards our joined hands.

It was the Deep Roads all over again; Anders and I clutching at each other, where instead of darkspawn or giant spiders, we faced our former companions. It did not make the experience any less terrifying.

We stayed far from the actual fighting, instead sticking to corners and shadows, healing without being seen by anyone who didn't already know we were there. I let Anders handle the casting—he knew more about healing than I did, even with him as my teacher—but our joined hands forced our magic together and we occasionally over-extended ourselves as a result, leaving us breathless but glad we were focusing on defensive magics rather than making things explode.

When it was over, I tried to pull Anders away before the Templars arrived, but he stood fast and I fell into place beside him as Garrett approached, flanked by Fenris and Varric.

None of them looked at Anders at all. Garrett kept his eyes locked on mine, and I could tell he was trying to understand why I stood against him in this. Fenris had his own gaze on the ground between his feet, and Varric was watching Garrett.

"_Why?"_ he'd finally asked. I still don't know which of us that question was posed to, but considering Anders had flinched and slunk closer to me in reply, I had taken it upon myself to respond.

"_I love him."_

I didn't listen to them as they tried to talk me out of it, tried to understand how I could love him after what he'd done. I just squeezed Anders' hand and began walking away, aware of all eyes on us as we walked out of the Gallows. Alone.

* * *

><p><em>I almost don't hear him when he speaks. "I'm never alone."<em>

_I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder. "And you'll never have to be."_


	82. Chapter 82

**Harvestmere, 9:37 Dragon **

**Ostwick**

* * *

><p>I had never been much farther than Sundermount, but Anders seemed to have an innate sense of direction and we reached Ostwick without much fuss. It was strange traveling without the chattering of the others in the background, without their blades and staves at our backs.<p>

Strange, but not unwelcome.

Anders had been afraid to touch me at first, and I think I understand why. He must have thought I hated him now, that I would yell at him or leave him alone in a world hell-bent on his death. After I'd disabused him of the notion, he had been afraid to let go.

I wasn't complaining.

He didn't say much, but so long as I kept his hand in mine or hung onto his arm like the little girl being near him turned me into, he didn't spiral into depression either. In fact, the first words out of his mouth once he realized I was taking us to Ostwick were "Where can we go?"

I had stopped, contemplating that. Honestly I hadn't formed much of a plan beyond _Get the Hell out of Kirkwall_, and I admitted as much, making him smile. I had missed that smile.

Seeing as how my expertise on Thedas was a little lacking, I tried to leave the decision up to him. "You know geography much better than me," I'd pointed out, and he'd just hunkered in on himself. I recognized that posturing. I'd used it before, to make myself seem unimportant, invisible. He was obviously not going to contribute. That, or he didn't really care so long as I was with him.

I smiled at the thought, seeing as how I felt the same.

"All right. Would you be opposed to returning to Ferelden?" I would have chosen somewhere else, Antiva maybe, but seeing as how I didn't speak Antivan and I had no idea if Anders did, I wanted somewhere where I could actually _talk_. "We could find some little town without a Chantry, where people won't know us as mages on sight."

"You…" Anders took a breath, "You still want to stay with me? After everything I've done?"

Well Anders. Did you think I'd bodily dragged you out of harm's way just so I could ditch you at the first opportunity?

"Of course I do." I took his hands and gave them a friendly squeeze, smiling. "In fact, I'm actually quite excited about it." He'd smiled, and I could see his relief warring with what I'm sure was a healthy dose of guilt-induced _I don't deserve her_.

He didn't need to know that I'd been planning for this eventuality ever since I'd figured out his plan. He didn't need to know I'd never intended on giving him up or letting anyone harm him. I'd even packed a few necessities from his clinic before we'd rushed out to intercept Meredith and Orsino, and grabbed a couple of things I figured he wouldn't want to get stolen.

He didn't need to know I was just as scared as he was.

"Right. So we'll catch a ship to the nearest Ferelden port and go from there. Sound good?"

I'm not really good at this whole 'leader' thing. I much prefer to follow instructions and do what I'm told, but considering that in Anders' current mental state his idea of leadership would involve turning himself in, I had to take the reins.

"The nearest port is Amaranthine," he offered in a quiet voice, looking fidgety and nervous, and I suddenly understood why. He'd been a Warden in Amaranthine. "I… am not looking forward to going back there."

"We won't stay," I assured him, smiling in what I hope is a reassuring way, "We'll just get some supplies and set out before they even know we've been there. It should take a few weeks for word to get out about what happened, hopefully. We just need to stay ahead of the rumors."

He relaxed. Minutely.

"Come on. The sooner we reach Ostwick, the sooner we can leave it."


	83. Chapter 83

**Firstfall, 9:37 Dragon **

**Amaranthine**

* * *

><p>Do you remember waaaaay back when, when I mentioned how I couldn't swim and therefore hate boats? You do? Great. Because I still hate them, and even though this trip wasn't <em>nearly<em> as long as the ride from Gwaren to Kirkwall, it was still bloody awful.

Anders, though, was chipper as can be. I think he was just enjoying the fact that while we were on the open sea, there was practically no chance of bumping into Templars or anyone else who sought to harm us. I had to concede his point.

He even remained rather cheerful once we docked in Amaranthine, and he took pride in pointing out all the places he'd helped defend the city against the Mother's armies and passing the time as we walked through the marketplace telling stories I could hardly believe about his days with the Wardens.

He sounded so… happy. Carefree. Wistful, I guess would be the word I'd use. As much as he harped on how the Wardens were just another cage, he missed them. Missed the sense of _belonging_.

"You belong with me, now," I'd offered, and he'd given me that unguarded smile that made everything that had happened in the past months completely worth it.

And then he'd glanced ahead and blanched, quickly ducking behind me as if my small frame could _possibly_ hide his height, and steered me into an alley, keeping me pointed towards the market while I just let him handle me in confusion.

"It's _her_," he'd whispered in disbelief, eyes wide, and I couldn't help but look back out at who he had been staring at.

No one caught my eye until the crowd parted and I glimpsed auburn hair, blue and silver robes, and the whispers and stares of those around her. Is that…

"Solona Amell?" I whispered back, equally wide-eyed. I mean, I knew she was Warden-Commander, and that Vigil's Keep wasn't all that far from Amaranthine, but the odds of running into her _here_…

I felt Anders nod from where he had his face pressed into my shoulder, the classic _If I can't see her, she can't see me_ maneuver. I watched as she stiffened and turned slightly to face us, eyes roaming, and I wondered if she somehow knew we were standing here.

"Andraste's knickers, the _taint_," Anders hissed, pulling me further into the alley. "Grey Wardens can sense each other."

Well shit. There goes that plan. "Does this alley open out somewhere, or are we going to have to cross our fingers and hope for the best?"

Anders glanced over his shoulder and his hand found mine, and we were running through the alleyways of Amaranthine as if we had a horde of Templars on our heels. I almost thought he was just making up this route until we spilled into a little back alley behind what I recognized as the inn and I stumbled forward when he stopped abruptly.

I wasn't sure what had made him freeze until I smacked into someone, knocking us to the ground in a tangle of swearing and struggling limbs.

I had time to glimpse dark hair and a very distinctive nose before Anders had his arms around me and hauled me off, clutching me to him as if afraid I would disappear.

"I'm sorry—" I started when Anders suddenly clamped a hand over my mouth and I just stood there, confused, as he began edging back to the alleyway behind us. The man on the ground rubbed his head and pushed himself to his feet, glancing up with what I assumed was an apology on his lips, before he froze and his eyes widened.

"…Anders?"

And we ran.


	84. Chapter 84

**Firstfall, 9:37 Dragon **

**Amaranthine**

* * *

><p>We didn't get very far.<p>

I had been listening to the man chasing after us for a good few minutes before a hand gripped my free wrist and jerked me and, as a result, Anders to a stop. It was rather jarring, and I yelped in alarm and that had been enough to alert Anders to the reason for our pause.

He'd whirled, lighting at his fingers, and the hand gripping my wrist vanished and I sagged into him. I blinked, a little hesitant as to why Justice had yet to make his appearance, but I clung to his robes and looked back at the man I'd knocked over. He had his eyes locked on the magic Anders held between them, as if he was more amazed that Anders was standing there at all than the fact he was being threatened with imminent death.

"Anders?" he asked again, still disbelieving, and Anders tensed.

"Hello, Nate," he grimaced, taking a step backwards with me still hanging on his arm. "Do me a favor and forget you saw me."

"Why did you run?" 'Nate' asked, confused, and Anders flinched.

"Is this _really_ the time for that conversation?"

Nate blinked. "What? No, I mean just now. In the alley. Maker it's like you thought I would hurt you."

The lightning fizzled out and Anders lowered his hand, though he pulled me tighter against his side as a result. I figured this conversation wasn't going anywhere any time soon, so I cleared my throat pointedly.

Nate looked at me as if he'd forgotten I was there and then his eyes widened and flicked to the Brand only half-hidden by my unruly hair. "Maker's breath Anders. What are you doing running around Amaranthine with a _Tranquil_?"

Anders hesitated, looking confused, before his expression turned dark and I quickly jumped in to divert the topic.

"I'm not Tranquil," I clarified, and Nate's eyes widened even further. They might fall right out of his head at this rate. "And as much as I'd love to stand here playing twenty-questions with you, we really have to go."

"The Commander will want to know you're alive, Anders," Nate insisted, turning his eyes back to him.

"Then have fun telling her," I interrupted, pulling Anders along as we brushed past the startled rogue. "Because _we_," I pointed to Anders and myself, "have no intention of getting mixed up in Warden business. Have a nice day."

"What… wait!"

I didn't. If he wants to talk to us so damn badly, let him keep up on his own time. He appeared in front of me and walked backwards to keep time with my steps, hands up pleadingly.

"Anders has been missing for _years_," Nate went on, "You can't just show up with him in tow and then _leave_."

"I can and I am," I insisted, swiftly losing my patience with the dark haired Warden. "If Anders wants to stop and chat, then that's fine. But if I know him at all, he'd much rather not deal with this on top of all the other shit we've been handling for the past year. Now kindly get out my damn way before I nail you to the sodding _wall_."

Still wide-eyed, Nate stepped aside and I pulled a stunned Anders past him, not stopping until we were through the city gates.

Once free, I slowed my pace and glanced apologetically up at Anders, who was grinning like a cat. "Sorry about that," I mumbled, embarrassed at how I'd handled what should have rightly been left up to the two men.

"I kind of like seeing you defending my honor," Anders mused, slinging an arm around my waist to pull me against him. "Even if you did just threaten to pin the Warden-Commander's Second to the walls of his own Arling."

I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it, furrowing my brow. Anders noticed, and slowed the pace further, looking at me expectantly. "Why didn't Justice intervene?" I blurted, and Anders blinked. "I mean, if someone had grabbed my wrist in Kirkwall, he would have flown off the handle. But he didn't even deign to show his face when Nate did it."

"I…" Anders hesitated. "I haven't… heard from Justice since… the Chantry. I can't tell if he's just satisfied and quiet or…"

"Gone?" I prompted, and he nodded uneasily. I wasn't sure how I felt about Justice being 'gone.' I'd miss his little possessive side, but I wouldn't miss the terrorist streak or his tendency to overreact to everything. "How do you feel about that?"

"Empty," he answered promptly. I assumed he'd been puzzling over this very question for quite a while. "It's quiet. It hasn't been quiet in my own head for… nearly a decade now. I'm not sure whether to feel relieved or bereft."

"Well, we don't know for certain that he is. But, just in case, let's not give him reason to make an appearance." I kept the rest of my thoughts to myself as we walked.

An Anders without Justice. Without the nagging disapproval in his ear. Without the volatile mood swings ranging from ecstatic to almost suicidal (Chantry, cough cough). Without the random bouts of _You deserve better than me. I'm a monster. Stay back. Don't touch me. Please don't leave me alone. I can't live without you. You should live without me. I'll just break your heart. It'd kill me if you broke mine. _

I rather liked the idea.

I wonder if Anders did.


	85. Chapter 85

**Haring, 9:37 Dragon **

**The Bannorn**

* * *

><p>Ah. Good old Ferelden winters.<p>

And by 'good old Ferelden winters' I mean 'holy shit this place is _freezing_.' If Anders and I weren't mages, we'd most likely have frozen to death our first night off the highway.

As it was, we were huddled by our little campfire under a veritable mound of blankets, tangled together in an attempt to ward off the chill. I couldn't see Anders' hands since we had the blankets pulled up to our chins, but I knew he was clutching his little pillow. I remembered seeing him handling it so carefully that night after the incident in the sewers, and I'd made a point to snatch it on our way to meet Garrett at the Chantry. I'd never seen a grown man cry like Anders had when I'd handed him the little embroidered thing.

It was actually rather sweet.

Grumbling, I ducked my head under the blankets and sure enough, he was still holding his pillow.

"Cold?" he sounded amused. "It's not even snowing yet."

_Yet?_ Oh sweet Lord.

"I'll take first watch," he offered gentlemanly. We both knew he would take the first watch regardless of whether I accepted or not. He'd been having a lot of nightmares recently, and he preferred to just not sleep when he could get away with it. Apparently Justice served a purpose beyond starving him and voicing displeasure.

Either way, I was tired and cold and unhappy, but I did lean against his shoulder and try and get some sleep.

* * *

><p>I woke to something licking my face, and for an insane moment I wondered if Anders had gone off his rocker, and then I opened my eyes and found myself laying back. I must have toppled over at some point when Anders had gotten up.<p>

I was also face-to-face with a very happy blob of black fur and a tongue that was having a grand old time choking me with slobber. I laid there and took it, wondering if I was still asleep, before a paw planted itself in the middle of my chest in an _Acknowledge me, damn it!_ gesture, and I gasped.

"Dawn!" I threw my arms around her and snuggled her close and _oh goodness_ she was _warm_. Then I paused. Wait. Dawn? What was… "How did…"

I had left her in Kirkwall. There hadn't been time to fetch her or Tigre from the barracks before all hell had broken loose, and in all the excitement I realized I hadn't even _thought_ about my poor darling mabari. But she was here now, and I had no idea how, but I had long since learned not to question things like this.

"Liz?"

I peeked past Dawn's wiggling self and saw Anders standing nearby, staring at us in the same kind of shock I'm sure I was in. "It's Dawn," I grinned, hugging her close. "And she's _warm_!"

"What…" Anders shook his head. "I knew mabari could always find their masters, but this is ridiculous. We took a _boat_."

Deus ex machinima? Yes please.

"I don't really care how she got here. She's fluffy and furry and did I mention how warm she is?"

Anders smiled and settled beside us, and Dawn immediately transferred her bulk into his lap, making him huff for breath. She had always liked Anders, but never been so demonstrative. Maybe she was just happy to see us?

I struggled to pull the blankets out from underneath her and threw them over us, and immediately it was almost too hot to sleep at all. Dawn was like a mabari-shaped furnace.

It was supposed to be my watch, but I knew Dawn wouldn't let anything sneak up on us, and before I had a chance to truly appreciate how warm I was, I was already asleep.


	86. Chapter 86

**Wintermarch, 9:38 Dragon **

**Honnleath**

* * *

><p>The villagers hadn't been exactly thrilled when we stumbled into town. Of course, the sight of two bedraggled mages and a mabari big enough to be confused with a small horse wouldn't be a very inviting image in the best of times. And this was far from the best of times.<p>

We'd yet to run into any Templars, thank goodness, but it would only be a matter of time. I'd wanted to pass through Lothering on the way, but it was still razed to the ground and overgrown with Blight and vines, so we'd given it a rather wide berth.

Honnleath wasn't on the map. On _any_ map. We'd stumbled on it completely by accident, but after the town's 'leader' learned the Anders was a Warden, they'd become all happy smiles and gracious hugging. Apparently some Grey Wardens had saved them from the darkspawn during the Blight, and taken a… golem… with them when they left.

It would be a good place to stay for a few days while we rested, and an older man named Matthias offered to put us up in one of his spare rooms in exchange for healing his daughter, who'd apparently broken her arm somehow and it wasn't healing properly.

It wouldn't take a genius to figure out we were mages—Anders was still in his feathered robes and carrying a staff—but Matthias couldn't seem to care less. Turns out he was a mage too, only he had absolutely no knowledge of healing spells. Anders hadn't been surprised.

Seems the only place to really learn how to heal nowadays was the Circle.

The girl was maybe sixteen or seventeen, but she still had a strange childlike innocence about her that reminded me of Bethany. Amalia, I think her name was. She took an immediate liking to Dawn, and after a lot of creative begging and wide puppy eyes from both parties, I consented to letting Dawn sleep with her rather than with Anders and I.

You want to know my favorite thing about this town? There was no Chantry.

You want to know my favorite thing about this _room?_ There was a _bed_.

A _real_ bed.

I almost sobbed when I saw it. Anders and I had been sharing a little cot in the back room of his clinic for… well forever, and the prospect of an actual bed was waaay too good to pass up. It had a hard mattress and the sheets were scratchy, but there was so much _room_ in it! I ended up lying spread-eagle just because I _could_, and eventually Anders got tired of me kicking him out of the bed and just flopped boneless on top of me. I couldn't really breathe like this, but who needs to breathe?

Not me.

"Are you going to give me some room?" Anders mumbled into my shoulder, and I just shrugged in response, making him smile against my skin. "All right then. Hope you don't suffocate." To prove his point, he somehow became even _heavier_. He must have been supporting part of his weight on his elbows. Silly, darling man.

"Mmph. Love you too, hun."

I slept better than I had in _years_.


	87. Ch 87: From the Mouth of Babes

**Lesson Number Fifteen:**

**_From the Mouth of Babes_**

_(On Prophecy)_

* * *

><p>Turns out that the villagers really don't like it when you attract Templars to their town in droves. We spent maybe a week in Matthias' spare room before we had to choose between fight or flight, and with our uncertainty as to how permanent Justice's silence was, we chose flight.<p>

I had no intention of risking a conflict that would prompt the spirit to make an appearance. We were infamous enough at it was.

I almost laughed when I found the first poster depicting our faces. They were far too generous on my looks, and Anders looked like a thug with a big nose. Surprisingly, the reward was only for taking us _alive_, which for obvious reasons put us both on edge. I don't know about Anders, but I had no intentions of falling back into Templar hands after what happened in the Gallows.

There were no posters of Garrett or any of his other companions. I wasn't sure if this was because Anders and I had managed to take the brunt of the blame, or because he was just that much more adept at hiding than we were.

You know… when I first arrived at Ostagar almost a decade ago, I never would have pictured myself living on the run with only a rebel mage healer and an intelligent canine as companions. In fact, I may have punched you just for suggesting it. It wasn't easy. Sometimes we went hungry, sometimes we argued, sometimes we ran into Templars or darkspawn—_why were they above ground still?_—and other times one of us would get sick or injured and the lucid one would have to sleep with one eye open.

Looking back, I can see all the things we could have done differently. If we'd not stopped to help that farmer fix his wagon, maybe we wouldn't have run into that Templar hunter that gave Dawn that huge scar across her face. If we hadn't tried to send a message to one of Anders' friends, maybe it wouldn't have been intercepted and ended up in the hands of one of our pursuers.

If we hadn't of detoured south past Ostagar rather than chance the rebuilding of Lothering, maybe we wouldn't have run into the one thing more dangerous than Templars and darkspawn combined.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**_ Man, I am really bad at not putting author's notes down here. _

_I wanted to clear something up that I'm sure if you've been paying attention to my lack of consitency, you've noticed at least a little. I went into this story with an idea for the beginning and an idea for the end. I had to make up the middle as I went along, and it's taken a lot longer and been a long journey getting from Point A to Point B. I hope I'm still holding your attention and that this doesn't seem as rushed as it looks when I read back over it, but I_ really_ want to get to the end so I can start working on the second one. Oh yes, my head is chock full of goodies and one of them is how I intend to handle the 'sequel' to this. But I have to actually _finish_ TFD first. *sigh*_

_I don't say it enough, but I appreciate your reviews. :) Even the negative ones (though thank goodness there haven't been too many of those). I'll never become a better writer if I don't figure out where I'm going wrong, and seeing as how this is my first fanfic that was longer than three pages... yes._

_Yes, well. Thanks for your time!_


	88. Chapter 88

**Cloudreach, 9:38 Dragon **

**Southron Hills, North of the Kocari Wilds**

* * *

><p>I've seen some pretty weird shit.<p>

There was that werewolf-man talking to a Dalish on the Wounded Coast. A spider as big as a house. A weird insect mantis thing called a varterral—saw that one _twice_. An elf with lyrium tattoos crushing people's hearts in their chests without drawing blood. A Qunari warrior that for some strange reason was carrying a mage staff that Merrill started using. A blond dwarf riding on a mabari like a horse. Oh Sandal. He was his own little brand of adorable insanity.

So I wasn't all that phased when suddenly the road we had been walking on turned into a forest, or when instead of a stretch of grass and plains I saw the blurred edges of the Fade, regardless that neither of us had been sleeping.

Oh, I was also alone.

That wasn't good.

Well, not _entirely_ alone. I mean, there was that silhouette that stayed in the blurred edges of the Fade no matter which direction I faced, and that was kind of unnerving. The Fade creeped me out with all its floating rocks and blurry lines and talking mice that aren't really mice but turn out to be pride demons in disguise.

"Well, well. What have we here? A visitor to this realm of mine?"

Well. Shit.

I knew that voice. That voice with that irritating cadence and lilt that made me wish I could sound like that. That creepy, ancient-but-not-old voice. That voice which my mind _oh so helpfully_ associated with wings and fire and the screams of a High Dragon.

Have you figured out who she is, yet? Because I have.

I didn't dare turn around, but she was obviously feeling generous today and appeared in my line of sight as if she'd always been there, golden eyes grinning to match the expression on her face.

"Unwilling visitor," I mumble, because I cannot keep my mouth shut when I really need to.

"All visitors are unwilling… else they would be inhabitants, not outsiders," she cackled, as if what she'd just said was the funniest thing in the universe, and I smiled uneasily back at her.

_Play nice with the crazy witch, Liz. Play nice._

"You are no visitor," she continued, stepping closer and I couldn't have stepped away if I tried. "You are… _outside_ the Cycle. Outside even _my_ sight, girl. And I See much." Her lips tilted up in a smile of amusement that seemed even colder than her grin.

"_The chains are broken, but are you truly free?"_

"_You see a great deal."_

"When I first saw you hurling yourself blindly in the path of that ogre, I had to ask myself… does she do so because she _must_? Or because she _can_?" She pinned me with those golden eyes as if expecting me to answer her obviously rhetorical question.

"I didn't think too hard about it."

She cackled. "Of course not! Thought would have implied _choice_, and your choice was stripped from you the moment you awoke at Ostagar." As I opened my mouth to speak, she silenced me with a feral grin, and I was reminded all too much of that same grin on the jaws of the dragon as she landed amongst us. "It was not _Chance_ that landed you in Thedas, girl, but _Fate_. You think it was circumstance that threw your lot with the Champion?"

"Did you have a hand in this?" I demanded. If I had the ability to move my arms or legs, I would have grabbed her and shaken her.

"A hand? I may have dipped my fingers into your bowl, but accuse me not of taking more than my share." _What the hell does _that_ mean? _She turned away and folded her arms, studying the distant shape of the Black City. "To have turned her back on Fate… is it hope that pursues her? Or fear?" I had no idea if she was talking to me or not. She turned back with an unusually solemn expression. "Let me be blunt with you, girl."

"Are you capable of being anything else?"

A flash of golden eyes was my only warning to keep my damn mouth shut. I obeyed it. "Your man was not meant to survive the chaos he wove into Fate's tapestry, girl. That you pulled him from Oblivion's gates speaks of an influence that is _outside_. Whether you intended it or not, you have unraveled Her web and forced Her to weave anew." She smirked then. "Fate is 'oft portrayed as a cruel mistress, yet she is the only certainty in a world at war."

"What do you want, Flemeth?"

"So direct! Take care to temper your words with wisdom, girl, less you annoy a power greater than I." Flemeth raised a hand to her chin and cocked her head, studying me as one might observe a fish caught out of water. Pitied amusement, with just a hint of regret. "What I want is irrelevant. There are forces at work of which you could not possibly hope to imagine, forces which even now turn their gazes upon you for your efforts." She grinned. "Perhaps if one would have anticipated such an event, one could have capitalized on their distraction. Namely, _you_."

I did not like this. This was sounding more and more like some kind of conspiracy and I really didn't want anything to do with any plan of Flemeth's. "Why did you bring me here? I'm not a damn genius; talking circles around me in riddles only makes me want to ignore you altogether."

Hmm. Probably not the smartest thing to say to her, in retrospect.

"I? I brought you _nowhere_. Perhaps I shifted a thread, perhaps I didn't. You brought yourself here, girl. Do not seek to lay blame at my feet when the fault is yours alone. Bah! I believe the question you meant to ask was where _here_ is."

"This is the Fade."

"Is it?" Flemeth smirked and studied her nails. "Why, perhaps it is! Regardless, I come before you bearing a warning. The precipice of change is fast approaching, and I feel your leap may be more literal than what was previously Seen. Once you see it, do not hesitate. Repair the tears in the weave, and perhaps Fate will grant you a second chance. They oft go hand in hand together."

Well that makes about as much sense as a pink elephant.

Flemeth stepped forward and tapped the Brand on my forehead, smirking. "You'll bear this mark for the rest of your days, girl. It is up to you to decide what to do with it."

* * *

><p>"Liz?"<p>

I blinked to clear the haze from my eyes and found myself staring up at the sky. Confused, I turned my head to see Dawn sitting nearby, panting, and Anders crouched next to her. "What…"

"You fainted. I couldn't wake you up, even with magic." Anders furrowed his brow. "What happened?"

"I… _think_ I was in the Fade. Had a chat with Flemeth. Now I'm more confused than I was when I started."

Anders sighed. "Flemeth? This just keeps getting better and better. Did she say anything useful?"

I frowned. _Yes. You were supposed to die after the Chantry was destroyed. Oh, and apparently someone—or myself—brought me here for a reason, and now that I've gone and screwed everything up they want me gone. Other than that? Nope! Everything's peachy keen. _"Just a bunch of riddles and warnings about leaping off ledges and such."

"Well, we'll be careful to avoid any cliffs in the near future then."

Somehow, I didn't think we'd be able to.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Over 100 reviews! :D Thank you all so much!_


	89. Ch 89: Class of 9:30 Dragon

**Lesson Number Sixteen:**

**_Class of 9:30 Dragon_**

_(On Reunions)_

* * *

><p>Anders took Flemeth's advice quite literally. Every time we saw a ledge over three feet or a cliff of some sort, he insisted we go around and give it a wide berth.<p>

I have a feeling the 'ledge' Flemeth was talking about isn't the kind you can just walk past, but I kept that to myself.

It did make me wonder, though, what we hoped to accomplish by staying on the run. All the Templars had to do if they felt like chasing us was finagle Solona into giving them Anders' phylactery—not that I told Anders that, he was on edge enough as it was.

Justice might actually be gone for good, which is both exciting and depressing, considering all the chances he's had to make an appearance and not shown up. Like a few weeks ago, when we stumbled on those Templars taking some mage children to the Circle (Ferelden's Circle was freed by King Alistair after the Blight; I'm pretty sure it's the only one that hasn't rebelled yet) and Anders insisted we help them.

We did, of course, but it was difficult without Justice's unique brand of Templar murder.

The children followed us for a few days before we dropped them off in a nearby town. Anders had wanted to bring them with us, and I had to admit it was tempting, but what kind of life would _that_ be? A life on the run from two of the most prominent factions in Thedas, raised by a terrorist and a woman who's not even from this continent? No thank you.

It was in that town that our good luck finally ran out. Not that we had much of it to begin with, but still.

We should have known better than to think the Wardens wouldn't eventually decide to come after us, but they didn't come alone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Sorry for the delay D: but work decided to pick up and I haven't had any *cough* inspiration *cough* for writing. Oh my muse... where art thou?_


	90. Chapter 90

**Solace, 9:39 Dragon **

**The Bannorn**

* * *

><p>It was, perhaps, one of the most idiotic things I had ever done in my entire life. At the time it had seemed like the greatest idea in the damn <em>world<em>, but… it wasn't. Not really.

So, yes. Yes I did just punch the Hero of Ferelden in the face. And it was a pretty good punch, if I do say so myself. Arcane Warrior training had to be good for _something_ after all; why not put those spells towards giving my least favorite Warden a knuckle sandwich?

She totally deserved it, though, sneaking up on us like that. Well, sneaking up on _me_. Anders was asleep, which is probably the only reason we didn't know she was there. And I do _not_ take kindly to being startled when I'm already walking a knife-edge of stress. I also did not appreciate how Dawn apparently was too distracted sniffing noses with Solona's mabari to bother alerting me to her arrival.

So I punched her. In the _face_. And it was _fantastic_. At least, it was until suddenly I realize she wasn't exactly _alone_, and all of a sudden I had a couple of very angry Wardens pointing weapons at me. Hmm. Maybe I should have thought that through a little bit more.

"I regret nothing!" I blurted, at a loss for anything better or wittier to say, and my outburst jerked Anders upright where he had been dozing and he blinked, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Before I'd even noticed he was on his feet, I felt him at my side, practically glowing with the effort of not incinerating the lot of them where they stood.

But no cracks or glowing eyes yet, so that was a plus.

Solona rubbed a hand over her face, fingers alight with healing magic, and raised a brow at me. Yes, that really just happened. "I suppose I deserve that."

"Damn right," I snapped back, still hyper-aware that we were outnumbered and I'd just assaulted their commanding officer. Cue nervous chatter! "Who the hell do you think you are, sneaking up on a person like that? You're lucky I didn't blast you with lightning!"

Anders was staring at me as if I'd lost my mind. I might have, actually.

"What do you want?" I continued, losing my steam as I realized I really wasn't in much of a position to do anything about, well, _anything_.

"Anders," came her quick reply. At first, I'd thought she was addressing him. It took me a moment to understand that was her _answer_.

"Like _hell_ I'm letting you take him," was my flabbergasted response.

Flabbergasted. Isn't that just the funniest word in the world? _Flabbergasted_. I love that word. It has the same number of syllables as my name! I should use it more often.

_Anyway_.

"It's not up to me," Solona continued, as if I hadn't spoken at all. "The Grand Cleric is throwing a fit because I wouldn't turn over his phylactery, and the Divine's threatening an Exalted March on the Wardens for _harboring Maleficar and their cursed ilk_, and that's really something I'd rather avoid."

"You're not _harboring_ us," I corrected, confused and more than a little twitchy at the thought of someone taking my Anders away. "It's not like we stop by the Vigil for tea and cakes every Wintersend."

"_Us?_" I swear Solona almost smiled at that. I wondered if her face even knew how to smile.

"Yes, _us_. Anders and I are a package deal, so don't expect me to just hand him over with a fight."

"Liz…" Anders whispered sharply from my side in a _Stop Arguing with the Warden-Commander_ voice. I promptly ignored him.

"It's either me or the Chantry," Solona sighed, fidgeting, and folded her arms. Good to know she was at least a little uncomfortable with this ordeal. "And the Divine's not the only one up in arms about me being a stubborn ass. Some lunatic from Starkhaven showed up on my doorstep with an army at his back ranting about terrorists and war and nonsense words in some language I didn't understand. I sent him away with a pat on the head and a cookie."

Sebastian. I exchanged a glance with Anders that did not go unnoticed by our Warden audience, and couldn't help the frown or the furrowed brows I was sporting. That damn hypocrite. I'd given him the chance to get Elthina to safety, and instead he'd preached the Chant to me. Apparently my "I told you so" speech wasn't as inspiring as I was led to believe, if he was coming after us.

"I can see you know who I'm talking about," Solona shook her head. "I'm just surprised we found you before he did. He seemed rather taken on the idea of executing you both."

I blinked, but it was Anders who asked the question I couldn't put to words.

"Wait, if you have _my_ phylactery, how could he possibly find us first?"

Solona shifted uncomfortably again, and wouldn't meet my eyes. Suddenly, I knew _exactly_ how he was going to find us, and I groaned aloud at my own stupidity. I met her eyes helplessly, and she nodded, making me stomp my foot and berate myself for being an idiot.

Anders was staring at me expectantly so I sighed.

"He doesn't need your phylactery. He has _mine_."


	91. Chapter 91

**Solace, 9:39 Dragon **

**The Bannorn**

* * *

><p>"Please," Anders begged, "<em>Please<em> tell me you're joking."

"I wish I was," I twisted my fingers together. The ground was very interesting today. I should stare at it for a while and see what secrets I can gleam from it.

"When did you get a phylactery made?" he asked, still wide-eyed. Solona glanced my way as well.

"When the… Templars took me to the Gallows." I gestured helplessly at the Brand on my forehead, and heard Solona swear and step back. I suppose all the dirt on my face and my unkempt hair was doing a phenomenal job of hiding it. "They took my blood as soon as I arrived. I… didn't think about the fact that they still had it until now."

"By Andraste's frilly smallclothes," she swore, and I couldn't help but laugh a little, "They gave you the _Brand_?"

"Meredith was _very_ displeased that her little Harrowing project failed. The First Enchanter was convinced I wasn't a mage at all since I lack a connection to the Fade, and Meredith decided the best way to test that out would be to put me through the Rite. Luckily, all that did was give me a neat tattoo in the shape of oppression on my forehead."

"And suddenly what Anders did to the Chantry makes that much more sense," she mused to herself, and I had no inclination to correct her. "But yes, that Vael character wanted us to help him track you down. Apparently I have a duty to help madmen hunt down my Wardens that I wasn't aware of."

Well. At least things couldn't possibly get any _worse_.

"Some friends of yours stopped by a few days after that, though. Obviously I didn't tell them anything, but I wouldn't be surprised if they followed us here."

I stand corrected.

"Well," I clapped my hands together, "this has been great fun and all, but we really need to start, I don't know, _running for the damn hills_ if that's quite all right with you."

Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, Savior of Amaranthine, was not amused. "I didn't come all the way out here just to give you some _news_, ma'am."

Did she just call me ma'am? No one calls me ma'am. _No one_. I have never been called ma'am in my entire life.

Oh God. Does this mean I'm _old_ now? Am I now officially old enough to be called ma'am? Oh God. I _am!_ When did this happen?

Wait. Get it together. This is not the time to have a breakdown. You can panic later. Yes. That's it. Breathe. You're not old.

Look at it this way, self, you'll always be younger than Anders!

…that's really not encouraging. At all.

Damn it.

"Then what did you come all the way out here for?" I ask belligerently.

That's a fun word. Belligerently. It sounds better than _aggressively_ or _antagonistically_. Makes it sound less like I'm purposefully needling the Hero of Ferelden because she snuck up on me in camp and made me punch her in the face.

That was still awesome, by the way.

"I already told you. I came for Anders." Solona sighed. I was, apparently, an idiot and was not paying close enough attention to what she was saying. Well too bad. She shouldn't have called me _ma'am_. "Look. I don't know you and you don't know me. I _do_ know Anders, and he's saved my ass more times than I care to count. Now you can either come along with me and let me get you somewhere _safe_ before the Royal Idiot shows up with his army, or I can conscript your damn self and drag you along anyway."

Hmm. So… either:

A) Go With the Angry Grey Wardens.

Or B) Go With the Even Angrier Grey Wardens.

I glanced over at Anders, and he looked as helpless as I felt. Well, he looked more ill than anything. I suppose this wasn't how he imagined his glorious return to the Grey Wardens would be. But if our options are either the Wardens or the Templars…

"Fine," I grumbled, looking back at the Warden-Commander, who folded her arms with a smug look of triumph. SMUGNESS. I hate it. I almost punched her again, flexing my fingers to stop myself before I did so. "Where are we going?"

She grinned, and I immediately wondered just how much trouble I'd just gotten us in. "The Dragonbone Wastes."

Oh, okay. That sounds nice. A nice little visit to the Dragonbo—_what?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Hrm... okay. I really did not mean to take this long to get up the next chapter. I _would_ make a bunch of lame excuses about rent and bills and busy and work but I WON'T because in reality it was just me. And a sad lack of inspiration. So HOPEFULLY I won't make you wait this long for another piece, and I'm starting to steer myself towards the end (le gasp!). _

_Oh, and in case anyone's still reading this, tomorrow marks the one month aniversary of Thedas for Dummies! Yay! I'm such a nerd!_


	92. Ch 92: Life, Liberty, and the Right

**Lesson Number Seventeen:**

**_Life, Liberty, and the Right to Shoot Lightning at Fools_**

_(On Freedom)_

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><p>Did you know that Ferelden is ridiculously large? Because it is. Traveling with Anders and Dawn, it was easy to lose track of the days and how long it actually took to get places.<p>

But traveling with a group of Wardens who spend their free time screaming in their sleep and glaring daggers at the two of us? Oh yes. I can feel the passage of time _quite_ well. Solona Amell and her entourage seemed perfectly content to pretend I didn't even exist, addressing all their questions and comments to Anders, and I'm not entirely sure why this was so damn irritating.

They also seemed to have some kind of secret code or something. At least, that's what it sounded like. I heard things like _Baroness_ and _Blackmarsh_ and even something that sounded suspiciously like _Oghren actually fights better drunk, believe it or not._ That _had_ to be a euphemism for something.

No one fights better drunk.

Oh. Sorry, I got sidetracked.

So.

The Dragonbone Wastes.

Yes, that sounds about as inviting as a cake made out of pig livers. Eugh.

I grossed _myself_ out with that. Sorry. Anyway, so apparently keeping secrets locked up tighter than Fort Knox is a Grey Warden trait, not just an Anders trait. I used every ounce of my incredible puppy-eyes skills (Dawn even helped once), but none of them would tell me what we were doing going to a place called the _Dragonbone Wastes_.

I mean, dragon bones. And _wastes_. A waste full of dead dragons. If I needed proof that Grey Wardens are insane, this was it.

What could _possibly_ be worth going to a place like that? This is like Anders and I going back to the Bone Pit for kicks and giggles so we can dance on the skeleton of the High Dragon.

_Wrong._

Oh well. We should be there soon, and maybe that creepy Warden with the funny mustache will quit staring at me like I'm the devil himself. He freaks me out.


	93. Chapter 93

**Wintermarch, 9:40 Dragon **

**The Dragonbone Wastes**

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><p>I think I squeezed the hell out of Anders' arm once we got our first glimpse of scenic Dragonbone Wastes. Gleaming spires of ivory bone, rolling mounds of foes long slain piled as high as the eye can see, the occasional spattering of decaying darkspawn corpses…<p>

Oh yes. A romantic getaway for the whole family to enjoy!

So. The Dragonbone Wastes.

There's really not much to say about it that the name doesn't already imply.

_A wasteland. With dragon bones._

Someone was being _awfully_ creative when they named the place.

I kept a death-grip on Anders as Solona the Potentially Insane led us underneath a rib cage larger than the clinic in Darktown. The woman was obviously quite mad. I mean, what kind of person gives a _tour_ of the Dragonbone Wastes?

"_If you'll look to your left, you'll see the bloodstain where Oghren pulled an axe out of my hip. Boy was _that_ fun! Blood and guts everywhere! And some of it was even mine!"_

Yep.

Crazy lady is crazy.

Anders was in on it, too. He'd add things to The Crazy Lady's narrative, point out landmarks he recognized, and generally looked far too relaxed to be taking a stroll down memory lane while walking beneath a _skeleton_.

I think I might be the only sane person left in the group. And that's saying something considering I'm not even from _Thedas_.

Anyway, after listening to Solona the Mad describe her encounter in this clearing (_"We fought a dragon _and_ a varterral here. Anders! You were there! Tell her about that time when Nate almost got ripped in half."_) she led us to the door of a Tower of Obvious Death and merrily led the way underground.

Under. Ground. I might not be a Warden, but aren't there _darkspawn_ underground? Shouldn't we be _avoiding_ those?

Oh sweet merciful goodness it smelled like Ostagar in here. No, it smelled _worse_. Darkspawn corpses cluttered the spiral staircases, and I clung to Anders like a burr as we tried to avoid stepping on any. These were our only pair of boots, you know. No need to get darkspawn juice on 'em.

"You just left them on the stairs?" I asked incredulously as I tripped over the lower half of a genlock and almost face-planted on the upper half.

Solona frowned back at me. "We were in a bit of a hurry. You know, trying to _save Ferelden?_"

"What about after?" I made a face as I heard the unmistakable _squish_ of my boot being introduced to a pile of long-melted darkspawn. "When you were leaving? You just walked up these stairs _over_ the corpses? How did you not trip?"

She opened her mouth a moment, paused, furrowed her brow, and closed it again. "We're almost there," she said instead, quickening her pace.

Nice evasion, Miss Crazy.

"Almost _where?_"

Anders frowned. "The Mother's chamber? Why are you taking us there?"

"The what?" I really didn't like the sound of that. Solona pushed open the doors and I felt my heart skip a beat as I tried to make sense of what I was looking at. "That's…" I swallowed, wondering when my voice had become so squeaky, "a _lot_ of breasts."

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><p><strong>AN:** _Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up. Real life decided to pummel me ten feet into the dirt and gave me only a toothpick and a shoestring to dig myself out with, so that took me a while. But, I'm here now! Love you all! Well, love as in a platonic, nice, friendly way. Not... oh never mind._


	94. Chapter 94

**Wintermarch, 9:40 Dragon **

**The Dragonbone Wastes**

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><p>It was <em>big<em> and _flabby_ and smelled like a _sewer_. Oh, and it had _six breasts._ Six! Not that… I was looking at those… or anything. Its face was split open like some kind of alien horror movie and it had _tentacles_ draped over just about every surface.

The only good thing about it was that it was _dead_.

…right? It _is_ dead… right?

It was also blocking the path. I managed a weak glare at Solona as if to say _'You left this thing blocking the road? Irresponsible, much?'_ and she just ignored me.

Anders shuddered beside me and I glanced over at him. He had gone pale, eyes unfocused, and I wondered if he was reliving whenever he'd first saw this thing. I shuddered with him. It was… _awful_.

"This is a broodmother," Solona explained in a tone of voice one might take while explaining how a car engine works, "an intelligent one that talked. Called itself 'The Mother.' We killed it a year after the Blight."

Wait. A year after the Blight and it was still sitting there almost ten years later? Ew.

Solona must have seen my face because she went on to say, "Darkspawn don't decay like humans do. They just sort of… fester."

Oh yay. Thanks so much for telling me that, Warden-Commander. I really needed to know that.

"So…" I fidgeted, eyeing the hulk of sort-of-not-really decayed flesh as if it would jump upright and start screaming at us. "You brought us down here to see a dead broodmother? Kind of anti-climactic…"

Solona rolled her eyes and began scaling the broodmother and vanished on the other side, leaving me staring at the spot she'd just occupied, slack-jawed. She just climbed that thing like a rock wall. Was… was that _safe?_

Anders was wide-eyed too. Must not be something Wardens do often. You know, climbing the corpses of their slain foes as if it's some kind of entertainment.

"No," she called from somewhere beyond the massive roadblock, "I brought you down here to see _this_."

See _what_? "You don't really expect me to climb over that, right? That was just you being enthusiastic?"

The laugh I got in response really wasn't reassuring.

I rolled up my sleeves, as if that would do absolutely _anything_ to make this any less horrible, and marched towards the flabby broodmother corpse with purpose. To my credit, I only gagged a little at the smell rolling off the thing in waves like some kind of demented heartbeat.

Oh. Oh _God_. Oh my _God_. It… it was _slippery_. Slimy. Oh holy shhhh…. This is _awful!_

Shit, shit, _shit…_

I tried in vain to breathe through my mouth as my boot vanished beneath the folds of the thing's… body. Gag. Thank the good Lord I was wearing gloves. If I had to touch this with my _hands_…

Oh good. Now I get to climb over its breasts. This isn't awkward at _all_.

I closed my eyes and blindly groped my way over the towering abomination, trying not to think too hard about what I was holding onto or what my feet were kicking at trying to get traction. How in the sodding hell had Solona made this look so easy? Did she do this in her free time? Is this some kind of Warden sport? 'Climb the Broodmother'? Do they hold competitions?

When my seeking hand met only empty air, I opened my eyes and found myself face-to-face with its… well, its _face_.

And I screamed. It had a lazy eye, drooping halfway down its face as if melted off, and it looked like it was _staring_ at me. I was briefly reminded of those paintings that seem to follow you with their eyes no matter where you're standing. And then I shrieked again and leapt from the thing's 'shoulders' and hit the ground rolling.

I may have sprained my ankle on the landing but I was far too busy having a nice freak-out to care. Solona was laughing her ass off and I threw a rock at her, smiling when it pegged her in the head and her laughter abruptly stopped.

That felt good.

Anders appeared at my side as if climbing over broodmothers was _really_ a Warden sport that he had once excelled at, and I managed a half-hearted glare at him, which he answered with a sheepish shrug.

Solona cleared her throat, rubbing the nice goose-egg I'd given her with my rock, and nodded down the path we'd arrived on. "_That's_ what I brought you down here for."

Anders and I turned to follow her gaze and I felt my jaw drop. Again.

An Eluvian. A _fixed_ Eluvian. It was Merrill's mirror fiasco all over again, only minus all the demons and angry Dalish elves. Oh dear.


	95. Chapter 95

**Wintermarch, 9:40 Dragon **

**The Dragonbone Wastes**

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><p>Solona "The Lunatic" Amell was already halfway down the path, and Anders and I had to scramble to catch up with her.<p>

"After his Royal Shininess showed up on my doorstep, I had a visit from an… old acquaintance of mine who shed some light on your…" here she eyed me as if I was going to spontaneously combust, "…_unique_ circumstances."

Now, I wonder what kind of meddling, dragon-transforming, white-haired witch-like acquaintance she could _possibly_ be talking about.

She paused. "I had a plan to help you, since I'd assumed you were a victim of circumstance. Not…" she scowled, "an _accomplice._"

"Accomplice?" I almost laughed. "You could almost say the whole thing is my fault." After all, I could have stopped it if I'd tried hard enough. Anders sent me a warning look but I ignored it.

Solona sighed and stopped a dozen feet from the mirror. "Then I suppose it's a good thing I brought you here. The Chantry will never let you _or_ Anders live after what the two of you did. I'd…" she fidgeted, eyes flicking to the Brand on my forehead, "I'd thought they'd make you Tranquil, but it looks like they already tried that. So. Execution or exile is really your only option."

Exile? I blinked, and looked back at the mirror. Then took a step back and bumped into Anders. My hands automatically fist themselves in his coat and I don't even know I've done this until he makes a sound of distress. Apparently, I'm holding on too tight. Well suck it up, Anders, because you're the only anchor I've got and they'll have to pry me off with a crowbar.

"You're not going to send us through that, are you?" I eye the mirror like one might eye a snake. "Who knows where we'd end up? Hell we could end up dropping on top of Morrigan or something."

To her credit, Solona does not ask me how I know about Morrigan. I do, however, take a moment to visualize the two of us falling from the sky only to land on an irate Morrigan and her demon-baby-god-child. I wonder which of them would set us on fire first. Morrigan probably.

I wouldn't put it past Flemeth to orchestrate that happening just for the kicks and giggles.

Flemeth. _Giggling._ Not even my otherworldly imagination can conjure up an appropriate image for that scenario.

"I thought Morrigan broke it when she went through," I continue to blabber on, still glued to Anders as if that would somehow keep me here should the Eluvian spontaneously reactivate itself. Knowing how our luck has been going so far, the mirror would probably drop us right into the Divine's lap in the middle of morning service. Wouldn't that be a tragic end to Anders the Rebel Apostate and Liz the Transdimensional Mage?

_Here lies Anders and Liz Little. _

_Impaled themselves on the stick stuck up the Divine's ass. _

_Damn you, Flemeth._

I realize with a start that while I was busy writing our humorous epitaphs, Solona has been explaining how the Eluvian is supposed to help us. Too bad I didn't catch a word of it.

"You can't really think this is a good idea," I protest when Anders proves, once again, that when faced with confrontation he'd rather just let me handle it.

Solona opens her mouth to reply when she's cut off by a flurry of barking, and I whirl towards the sound in time to see Dawn and Solona's mabari—whose name I don't know—scrambling over the broodmother body and barreling towards us.

Well that's not a good sign. We'd left them at the entrance, in case someone came along behind us. They were _supposed_ to chase them off, not lead them right to us. Dawn is panting up a storm, and Solona's mabari has an arrow in his shoulder.

We all snap into action at that. An _arrow_. What self-respecting Ferelden would _dare_ fire an arrow at a _mabari?_

None, that's what.

"Now, who do we know that has a fancy for arrows and lacks any sort of respect for dogs?" I ponder aloud, getting in some more sarcasm practice, and Anders just levels a Look at me that makes me grin sheepishly.

I hear a _crack_ and look over in time to see Solona snap the arrow off and whisper apologetically as she pulls it free, and her mabari whimpers once but otherwise doesn't move. Tough dog. She stands slowly, eyes literally on _fire_, and turns a glare so fierce towards the general direction of the dead broodmother that I'm actually surprised it doesn't explode.

The Warden-Commander is _livid_, and I feel a little bad for His Royal Shininess for invoking her wrath.

"_No one_ hurts my Bubbles and gets away with it," she snarls, sword sparking with magic as she grips it with both hands.

_Bubbles?_ And suddenly my nickname for Garrett is that much more accurate.

"Prince Sebastian Vael has just assaulted one of the Blight Companions," she points at Bubbles—I can't even think that name without smirking—and spits on the ground. She actually spits. "And he's _seriously_ ticking me off." She jerks her head back towards the Elvuian and spears me with a stare that screams _Danger! Danger! Back away!_ "Way I see it, you've got two choices. You can either get your ass through that mirror or I'll let the Prince of Stark-raving Mad throw you through it."

"Solona…" Anders tries, and I'm actually a little surprised he's able to speak at all after the glare she'd just given us.

"No, Anders. You've stitched me back together far too many times for me to watch you get turned into an apostate pincushion. Get your dog and your little shadow and follow my instructions. That's an _order_, Warden."

His face hardens, and I have about two seconds to wonder what _instructions_ I must have missed before Anders has a deathgrip on my wrist and is pulling me towards the mirror, Dawn whining at my side but tagging along, ears flat with her nub tail between her legs. If my _mabari_ is afraid of the mirror, I think it's prudent to _Not Be Stupid_ and resist.

At this point, I can hear shouting on the other side of the dead broodmother—and some retching, which makes me laugh—and Solona is marching towards the obstacle with a snarling Bubbles at her side, every inch the woman who'd slain an Archdemon and lived.

Anders has always been stronger than me physically, and I'm really not trying that hard to resist, but something feels… _wrong_ about that mirror. It's like having insects crawling over your skin. You can _feel_ them there, but no matter how hard you look you can't _see_ them and it drives you _crazy_.

It's not like the feeling of blood magic. It's more like someone's teasing you with a feather that just so happens to resemble a spider on fire.

I watch, gaping like a fish, as Anders presses the palm of his free hand against the glass and it _ripples_ like water, and suddenly we're not looking at our reflections anymore, but a road and trees and smoke and fire and I do not want to go there.

"Anders," I whine, "no."

He looks back at me and then over my shoulder at where the first of Sebastian's lackeys have braved the Mother only to get cut down by a slathering Solona Amell. "We have no choice, Liz."

Damn it. I hate it when he's right.

I eye the mirror again and step up beside him on the dais, Dawn on my other side, and it takes every ounce of my considerable will not to flinch as the smooth glass rushes towards my face when we step forward.

The light bends, and it's like being underwater, struggling, unable to breathe, clawing through a metallic sheen that vaguely resembles a cross between the Mother's lair and some kind of forest, and suddenly I'm falling into nothing, into an abyss that has no end.

I see the ground—_or is that the sky?_—rapidly approaching and brace for an impact that never comes.

"_We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly._"

_Damn you, Flemeth,_ is my last thought as the world ceases to matter.


	96. Chapter 96

**January, 2012**

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><p>The first thing I notice is the smell. That familiar scent of blood and smoke, along with something that reminds me of the polish Aveline used on her blades to make them smell like metal rather than grime and dirt. My fingers twitch like a frog's leg after you shock it with lightning, and I can't help but wheeze a breath at the metal image that conjured. Everything is dark, but I can see thanks to the fire.<p>

Wait.

Fire?

_Fire!_

I jerk and immediately regret it, as a million sharp things stab into me with the movement, and I freeze instinctively until the pain fades again, and I suck in a careful breath. I don't remember anything after stepping through the Eluvian. There had been… darkness, and falling, and Flemeth talking about leaping and flying and why does everything _hurt?_

The smoke clears a little and I blink through it, trying to understand where it was Flemeth's psychotic funhouse mirror sent us. It looks like someone locked me in a cage, bent all the bars at impossible angles, and then set the whole thing on fire just for the heck of it. Nothing is at all recognizable, but I do feel fabric under my fingers where I'm sort of squished.

My eyes are starting to water from all the smoke, and I try to move my arm. It stabs with pain that makes my vision go white, and I whimper. Ok, that's a Bad Idea.

"Liz?" a muffled voice calls from somewhere on the other side of my metal inferno, and I try to move and regret it. Again. I need to learn to stop doing that. "Liz?" it calls, louder, accompanied by barking.

_Barking._

I know that voice! Anders! "Anders?" I manage to wheeze past the smoke and the pressure that makes me wonder if every bone in my body isn't broken.

"Maker's breath…" comes that same familiar muffled curse, much closer this time. "Just… don't move. I'm… going to try and get you out of there." He sounds panicked. There isn't much that has ever made Anders panic.

I can hear Dawn barking up a storm, and growling, and whining, and generally sounding about as helpless as I feel, and then I hear a groan of metal and suddenly smoke billows in and I cough. My metal coffin groans again, then shudders, and I can see a piece of it on the side being torn away with enough force that I can only assume Anders lost his patience and just chucked it the hell away with magic.

"_Shit_," comes the passionate murmur from somewhere on my left, next to the large void that had once been part of my strange metal cage. "This is going to hurt, Liz."

_No shit, Anders. It's been hurting for the past five minutes._

I do appreciate the warning, though, even if it was severely understated. If it felt like I was broken before, now it felt like someone decided taking a sledgehammer to my face was a great idea. Then hands are—gently, I guess, even though it doesn't feel like it—pulling me through the opening in the metal and I collapse on a smooth, gravely road and cough. I can see the blue of healing magic and suddenly nothing hurts anymore but I know that it _should_, and it worries me.

A few minutes later, or maybe a day, I don't know, the glow flickers out and I feel monumentally _less_ like a walking corpse. Dawn enthusiastically displays her joy that I'm all right by cleaning my face, and seeing as how I lack the energy to push her away, Anders does it for me and pulls us a bit farther from the flaming ball of twisted metal that I can't even _begin_ to comprehend how I'd fit inside there.

_Wait._

There's something… familiar about that ball of fire. My eyes flick over the wreckage with growing alarm as things begin to make sense.

_White metal. Wheels. Fabric under my fingers. Fire._

I scramble to my feet and Anders lets me, although I have to grip his arm to keep from keeling over, and I stare wide-eyed at the wreckage. I know that pile of metal.

The car accident. The _car accident._

Cars. There aren't cars in Thedas. My eyes dart to the road and it's not gravel or cobblestone, but _concrete_ and suddenly standing up is too much effort and so I sit, shocked. Anders has wandered back over to what remains of my little white Corsica and the sedan it became friends with, and is peering through the remains of one of the windows.

"There's… someone else in here," he calls back, and I can tell just from the tone of his voice that the unfortunate second person was not as lucky as I was.

I stare at him as he wanders back, eyes growing more confused and worried the closer he gets, until he stops a few paces away, making some kind of strangled noise that I've come to understand as a sound of distress.

"Liz, you're…" he struggles for the right word, "_young._"

I am? Well thank you, Anders! Now's really not the time for flattery, though.

The look on his face doesn't go away, so I glance down at myself. I'm not in my makeshift robe anymore. I'm back in my—bloodied—white tee and jeans with a few more holes than I remember them originally having. I glance back up at him and _he_ looks younger too. He looks like he had when I'd first met him, without the extra shadows under his eyes or the lines on his face.

I reach up and feel the familiar coarse texture of the Brand, and it's odd how such a horrible reminder of my mistreatment can be so comforting. At least I know I didn't just imagine the whole thing.

Except for my Brand and the presence of my mabari and my handsome apostate, it was almost as if the past ten years had never happened.

Anders sits down carefully beside me, as if I'd break, and I can see the same shell-shocked expression on his face that I'm sure is reflected in mine. "Liz…" he begins carefully, warily, "where… where are we?"

I look back at the flaming remains of the car I'd been driving what feels like a lifetime ago.

Fitting, I guess, how the same ball of metal that sent me to Thedas would be the thing that brings me back. I wonder if Flemeth had anything to do with that.

Ugh. My head hurts too much to think about that right now.

I stare at my shoes—_oh sneakers how I missed you_—and then look back at Anders' worried face. "We're… in America," I manage.

His wide eyes and intake of breath prompt me to continue talking despite myself.

"I'm… home."


	97. Ch 97: Addendum

_**Addendum, 9:40 Dragon, The Dragonbone Wastes**_

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><p>"What do you mean, they're <em>gone?<em>" Sebastian all but spits, face twisted into a very un-princely scowl. Solona just stares at him unblinkingly, entirely unrepentant for the scorch marks marring his lovely white armor or the new scar adorning his cheek from her blade. He deserved much worse for daring to hurt her darling Bubbles, but she didn't want to cause an international incident.

"I thought royalty were supposed to be intelligent," Solona bites back, grinning at his glare. "_Gone._ As in, you can't touch them ever again, so get over it. From what Liz told me, the Grand Cleric's death is practically your fault anyway."

She doesn't see the strike coming, but she can't say she didn't expect it. The force of his palm snaps her head to the side, and she gingerly rubs her cheek, smirking. Liz's punch had had more force than that little love-tap. Bubbles jumps to attention at the blow, snarling and growling low in his chest, and a few of Sebastian's men step back in proper respect.

He'd more than proved himself during their little tussle earlier, bringing down more than a dozen men all on his own before Sebastian had called a truce and a cease-fire.

Solona figured it must have been highly embarrassing to be bested by a single mage and her mabari, even if that mage had almost single-handedly stopped the _Blight._

"You are sheltering a Maleficar and his… his _whore_," Sebastian snarls, and Solona bristled. "You will submit yourself to the Chantry's justice or I will have no choice but to strike you down."

Solona growled and pushed the Prince away with her hands, making him stagger back. She got up in his face, nose to nose with him, and bared her teeth. "Get this through your big, fat, Chantry-brainwashed _head_, Sebastian. I am not _sheltering_ anyone. And Anders is _not_ a Maleficar, and you know better than to assume such things about him _or_ Liz. They are _gone_, and nothing but the Maker's direct intervention is going to bring them back. And if He had to pick a side, He'd probably not be on _yours._"

Sebastian puffed himself up, and Solona just rolled her eyes, stepping back again. He smelled like _stupid._ Yes, stupid had a smell. It smelled like Sebastian. "Thedas is on the brink of _war_, Warden-Commander," Huh. His brogue thickens when he's upset. "And you have aided the conspirators in their escape. Do not think your rank as a Grey Warden will protect you when the Divine hears of this."

Solona narrowed her eyes. "Is that a _threat_, Sebastian Vael? Think carefully. Do you _really_ want to go to war with the Hero of Ferelden?"

"I do not go to war with a Hero," he replies, voice low and calm. "I go to war with an _apostate._ Mark my words, mage, since I cannot bring my wrath to bear on the man responsible for this travesty, I will bring it on the woman who let him get away."

Solona kept herself rigid as Sebasitan "Holier-Than-Thou" Vael turned on his heel and marched away, taking his little idiot brigade with him. She didn't relax until he vanished, slumping her shoulders and turning back to the Eluvian, glass black and lifeless.

She stepped up and ran her fingers over the cold surface, sighing when it remained impassively inert. Maker only knows where Flemeth had sent those two, but wherever it was, it had to be better than _here._

Now she'd sent _two_ friends through the Eluvian and into whatever world lay beyond. How many more would she have to lose before she could rest in peace?

_Many_, she thought grimly. War with Starkhaven… the First Warden would want to hear of this. She turned on her heel and marched purposefully away, clapping a hand to her thigh and calling Bubbles to heel. There wasn't time to mourn the lost.

She had a war to win.

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><p><strong>AN:** _And here we are! The End! Or is the beginning? Who knows! Just kidding; I know. I'm trying to decide if the sequel should focus more on Liz and Anders back in America, or here, on the Mage-Templar war about to break out. Maybe both? Hrmph, I must now go track down my brain and strangle it until it gives me some good ideas._

_I want to thank all of you-all three of you-that are still with me for putting up with my unique brand of nonsense and not throwing rotten fruit at me over the course of these past... holy goodness has it been 97 chapters? Oh my. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it, and that I did the characters justice (heh). _

_Until next we meet, fellow Dragon Ageanites! Maker bless!_


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